A Matter of Propriety
by YugamiYoshitsune
Summary: Simon Blackquill may have been exonerated, but people continue to view him with suspicion. He is forced to live in a hotel as no one will rent to him, and hounded by reporters. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth resolves to help him, leading to both of them them having to balance propriety and burgeoning closeness... Watch for CW in front of chapters! Ensemble fic, not AA6-compliant.
1. Chapter 1

Propriety was something Miles Edgeworth valued above all else. It was in the spirit of this hallowed quality that he granted his subordinate, Simon Blackquill, two weeks' leave after his exoneration in order to at least begin to try and settle some of his affairs. Given that the man had just spent seven years in jail, it was unlikely to be enough to completely rebuild his life on the outside. However, the chief prosecutor reasoned, it was a start, particularly since Blackquill had accumulated a tidy amount of pay during the months he had prosecuted while incarcerated, which should aid him in his endeavors.

After the two prosecutors had joined the Wright Anything Agency affiliates for noodles at the dilapidated little stand they seemed to favor, Miles offered his charge a ride, dropping him off at a reasonably decent hotel and accompanying him to the check-in counter. He paid for this first night out of his own pocket, and nipped any potential protest in the bud with a sharp sideways look at Blackquill when the latter seemed ready to say something.

Once the initial formalities had been taken care of and the desk clerk had put the room key on the counter, Miles turned towards the ex-inmate and stated, "I will have payroll transfer three months of the salary they held in escrow for you onto a prepaid credit card first thing in the morning. Someone should come by here at around noon at the latest to hand it to you. Should there be anything in which I can be of assistance, please don't hesitate to contact me. Otherwise, I will see you in my office in two weeks' time."

Blackquill nodded slightly; he seemed a bit shell-shocked to the chief prosecutor, although he could hardly be blamed for that – just this morning, he had still been certain that he would breathe his last within 24 hours, only to suddenly be set free, instead, to be assured that the person he had sought to protect was innocent, as well, _and_ to reveal the target whom he had pursued before his conviction as the culprit. An accumulation of all holidays of the year in a single moment could probably not even begin to describe the momentousness of what had happened to him today.

Miles allowed himself a small smile at his subordinate. "Get some rest – after today, I'd say you thoroughly deserve it, more than anyone else. Have a good evening."

The well-wishes startled Blackquill out of whatever contemplation he had been engaged in. "And you."

He reached for the card key, ignoring the flinch of the hotel employee, and walked across the lobby to the elevators. After the double doors had closed behind him, his superior turned to the lady, who was still a little green around the gills.

"I am aware of what this must look like; however, I can assure you that everything is aboveboard, and that he won't harm anyone."

Of course the woman behind the desk would have recognized Blackquill from his media coverage; however, news of his exoneration had not yet had time to spread, and so the situation must appear at least somewhat concerning to her.

"Here's my business card if you have any lingering concerns after reading tomorrow morning's paper. Mr. Blackquill has been exonerated a mere few hours ago; the official paperwork is filed at the courthouse, where you may also inquire about the matter as soon as they open their doors in the morning."

The clerk took the card and studied it for a moment. Her eyes promptly widened.

"I _thought_ I recognized you…!"

She smiled hesitantly. "I know it's the dark age of the law and all, the press writes about it often enough, but I don't suppose it'd be in the chief prosecutor's interest to let a felon walk free without reason, so… I'll trust you on this, I guess."

Miles imbued his nod of acknowledgment with a measure of warmth before turning to leave. "I appreciate your trust in this matter."

He held in his sigh until he had passed through the revolving door and was on his way back to his car. Given the woman's initial reaction, he wondered if even extensive press coverage would serve to erase the stigma his subordinate currently bore, namely that of being an ex-inmate, regarded by many as one of the key persons in bringing about the current sorry state of the justice system.

Furthermore, he could not help but notice the similarities between UR-1 and the DL-6 case, which had cost him his father. Like Athena Cykes, he had not known what exactly had occurred at the time of death, had suspected himself to have been the murderer. That would render Blackquill as being in the same role as Yanni Yogi – with one important difference: Whereas Yogi had suffered due to his lawyer, Robert Hammond, being more concerned with his win record than with his client's reputation, Simon Blackquill had willingly shouldered the burden in order to protect a young girl from being indicted for the murder of her own mother.

The chief prosecutor supposed that he had more than enough reason to despise Yogi, in spite of the fact that the former bailiff had not murdered Gregory Edgeworth. After all, Yogi _had_ killed a man years later with the explicit intent of framing Miles for the crime. However, the plan had been developed by Manfred von Karma, his own mentor – and he could not blame the former bailiff entirely for wishing to exact his revenge, after his fiancée had killed herself, and he had been forced to adopt the persona of a harmless madman living in solitude and obscurity for over a decade once his "not guilty by reason of insanity" verdict had been handed down. It had been a miscarriage of justice, due to a variety of unfortunate factors, and by the time the truth had finally been revealed, it had been far too late for Yogi.

Not so with Blackquill. He had been given a second chance at the very last moment, and even though he, too, would likely face an uphill battle, Miles was certain his subordinate would make it through, considering the _sangfroid_ he had displayed in the face of his own impending demise.

He recalled meeting the man for the first time eight years ago, when he had come to the Prosecutor's Office fresh out of law school, a mere year before the event that had almost led to his ruin had occurred. Compared to Klavier Gavin, the other noteworthy new addition to his junior colleagues that year, Blackquill had been quiet and unobtrusive, more given to listening than speaking up outside of the courtroom. While engaged in a trial, however, he had known exactly when to work himself into the conversation and ultimately take the proceedings in hand, to where his opponents had never known what had hit them. Clearly, his psychological training, which he had begun during law school even prior to studying under Metis Cykes in his free time, had benefited him in devising this strategy.

It had helped that back then, he had _looked_ like he could have been the newest, quickly rising star of the office: Reasonably handsome, but overall unassuming, possessing the potential to intimidate with his tall stature and serious nature, but not devoid of a sense of humor, coolheadedly calculating when it was necessary, but bound by his own personal code of honor, and far from being a sore loser more interested in his track record than in finding the truth.

And then, UR-1 had happened, and Miles had been baffled. What reason would Blackquill have had to murder his mentor? During the sporadic times when he had managed to strike up a conversation with the younger man over a cup of tea in his office, he had heard naught but good things about the psychologist – her patience, her expertise, the fascinating results of her research, the latter of which had not been linked to Athena Cykes' auditory ability until today for him. Blackquill's sister, whom he had met at official functions once or twice, as she had apparently been his legal guardian after their parents had died when he had been fifteen, had likewise been completely clueless.

Miles had to admit: In spite of the available evidence, in spite of Blackquill's confession, he had never been able to fully believe in his guilt. For that reason, he had stuck his own neck out when the prosecuting council had attempted to disbar his former colleague-turned-prisoner as a matter of formality, and had requested an indefinite suspension, instead. His reasoning had been simple: At the point of his arrest, Blackquill had been on the heels of the Phantom for approximately half a year, and considering that the HAT-1 sabotage bore the saboteur's mark, it stood to reason that the criminal remained at large, a ticking time bomb that could strike again at any moment. Certainly, even _contemplating_ that an inmate might at some point be brought out of involuntary retirement in a move of fighting fire with fire had looked ludicrous on paper, but considering that the council had deemed the chance to be low and had only authorized the reactivation in case of an acute Interpol warning, which might not even have occurred prior to Blackquill's execution, his request had been miraculously granted.

And then, it had come, anyway, the day he had received a memo from Shi-Long Lang. It had been at the end of March 2027, Miles had just attained the rank of chief prosecutor two months prior, and the sheet of paper his secretary had brought had stated only, **Phantom activity expected in L.A. area within the year. Target as yet unknown.**

Thus, a few days later, he had found himself face to face with the long-term death row inmate who had been a junior colleague and was about to become his subordinate.

* * *

 ** _March 31, 2027_**

Miles was tempted to take off his recently acquired glasses and wipe the lenses clean with the cloth in his pocket, as he could hardly believe his eyes. He knew that prolonged incarceration did not tend to be overly kind to people, but when Simon Blackquill was led towards the thick window pane separating the visitor's side from the inmate side of the detention center, he found himself almost wondering whether the guard escorting the man clad in the striped prison jumpsuit had made a mistake and brought out the wrong inmate. Blackquill's hair, once short and ever-so-slightly stylishly tousled, as had been the practice among many young professional men in those days, reached halfway down his back in a wild, martial-looking ponytail and was long enough even in the front to cast deep shadows on his eyes, obscuring them completely when he leaned forward slightly to sit. Furthermore, he had become exceedingly pale, his unhealthy skin color only brought into stark relief by elongated darkened traces running from his lower eyelids far down his cheeks, speaking of little sleep and who knew what else.

The final straw came when the stranger on the other side of the window shot him a grin and began to speak.

"Edgeworth-dono… this is a surprise, I must admit. To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?"

Blackquill's voice was the same and yet _not_ the same it had been; fairly quiet as before, but rougher, and with an insolent undercurrent that had not been there before.

Miles gazed over at the guard in the corner, who promptly saluted and left the room, as had been arranged with the prison warden. A moment later, the red light of the surveillance camera mounted on the ceiling flickered off.

Blackquill turned his head, the expression of cynical amusement never leaving his face. "Oh? What is this all about? I hope you don't mind if I point out, if it was a _tryst_ you had in mind, that this venue somewhat complicates the situation, considering that there is no direct path between my side of the room and yours…"

Enough was enough. Miles coldly replied, "I would appreciate it if you saved your crude musings for your cell neighbors, Mr. Blackquill. I'm here for a very specific reason. A… certain person is rumored to once more be in town."

He held up the short memo.

Blackquill's eyes widened slightly for a moment as he read the single line, although he quickly had himself in check once more. "Interesting, to be sure, but I'm uncertain why the reappearance of the dastardly coward would lead to your visit. As you may have noticed, I am rather _tied up_ at the moment."

He lifted his hands, heavy shackles connected by a chain surrounding his wrists, and huffed out a laugh.

"Regardless of this fact…" Miles ignored the pun as he removed a document from his briefcase, holding it up for his conversation partner to see. "I have come to inform you that your badge has been reactivated. From this point forward, you are once more a prosecutor."

Blackquill stared at him for a long moment. Then, he began to laugh uproariously, his chains clanging as he slapped the board in front of him with one hand.

"A marvelous April Fool's jest, Edgeworth-dono, if a bit early. You have my admiration."

The chief prosecutor's eyebrows drew together in ire. "I can assure you that I came here with no jocular intent. You are now my subordinate, and I expect you to perform your duty with all due diligence."

Apparently, his tone had finally gotten through to Blackquill, who immediately ceased laughing, his mien now serious.

"In that case, with all due respect, _sir_ , you might wish to reevaluate your options. I have kept abreast of the press's jabber regarding the 'dark age of the law' even within these walls, and my reinstatement would only serve to aggravate the misgivings of the public. Who has ever heard tidings of a convicted murderer serving in an official capacity in a trial? I was certain that my badge had been cast into a fiery pit the moment I received my sentence…"

Miles shook his head. "Due to your work regarding the _person_ who is now rumored to return, an exception was made… and due to this _return_ , the reactivation was authorized."

He leaned forward slightly. "Mr. Blackquill. _Simon_. I need your eyes and ears on the ground, on the inside as well as on the outside of the walls, as much as that is possible. Furthermore, although I find myself unfortunately bereft of sufficient proof, I have to agree with your sister that there is something _off_ about your conviction, and although my hands are tied when it comes to overturning it without your cooperation, I believe you to be innocent. I cannot halt your execution. I cannot exonerate you. But I _can_ give you the opportunity to see your last assignment to the end, to regain a limited measure of freedom, and to make outside inquiries through the detective who will be assigned to you. Will you uphold your oath to serve the people?"

Blackquill closed his eyes as he thought in silence. Finally, he rose from his chair as if to walk away, and Miles was sure that the tall man's retreating back would be the last thing he saw of him prior to his hanging, when…

A deep bow. "Loyalty must be repaid with loyalty, and an oath is an oath. While I care as little for most of the populace as they do for me, I will not disgrace my appointed master by going against his wishes."

A tilt of the head backwards, letting Miles see Blackquill's eyes, serious, determined, and so reminiscent of the young man he had once been that he wondered how he could have ever been tempted into nonrecognition.

"I will perform my duties, and I will attempt to track down the faceless coward, although I cannot promise that I will meet with success prior to my passage across the Styx."

Then, Blackquill smirked. "There is one thing I would request, however, namely to be granted a change of attire. If I am to prosecute in a trial, wearing prison garb would be rather _inappropriate_ …"

Blackquill received his court attire from the prison holding bin the following day, along with his badge. The items were brought to his cell by one Bobby Fulbright, detective.


	2. Chapter 2

Simon Blackquill spent most of his first night of regained freedom staring at the ceiling of his hotel room. While still surrounded by his superior, opponents, and various hangers-on after the conclusion of the trial, he had certainly intellectually understood that, just like that, his life was once more his own and would continue, but only when the chief prosecutor had detailed transitional payment methods to him, had allowed him to take two weeks to get his affairs in order, had the _sensation_ of being free fully registered. If he wanted, he could get up, walk out of the room and even out of the _building_ , with nothing and no one standing in his way.

Problem was, he had nowhere _to_ go at the moment. After passing the bar and moving out of his college dorm, he had cohabited with Aura until his conviction. His sister had subsequently thrown herself into her work and given up her apartment to live in one of the small residential cells at the Space Center, which were inaccessible to outsiders, and he had not exactly had either chance or desire to keep in contact with the sparse acquaintances he had had in his prior life.

Imposing on Athena was right out. Yes, she had gladly acknowledged their shared past in her bid to overturn his death sentence, and he had no intention to actively avoid her, should she seek contact out of her own volition. However, facing the yellow press over excessive acts of fraternization such as occupying her couch for an unspecified amount of time, particularly until the impending journalistic maelstrom had consumed its fill, was bound to be detrimental to her reputation, whether she actively cared about it or not. He would not ask her.

A hotel room, although as deliberately impersonal as a jail cell, would have to do for the time being. Once he had procured an Internet-ready device, he would begin the search for a new dwelling of his own.

At least this place was warm, the bed soft and spacious, the window unbarred. And to think that he would have faced his executioner right about now, had it not been for a multitude of factors, which ultimately all harkened back to three people: Athena, Aura, and Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth.

The motivation of the former was understandable – she had known Simon to be innocent thanks to her ability, and had wanted to prevent his execution, as well as to find out who had in actuality murdered her mother. Aura, of course, had acted on much the same reasons, even though she had suspected Athena to have been the culprit. But Edgeworth… what had been _his_ motive? They had conversed on occasion during his short time at the Prosecutor's Office prior to his incarceration, but they had hardly been particularly close. How had he managed to inspire enough _trust_ in the man to selflessly threaten his own position for a convicted murderer in requesting that his appointment was not terminated automatically, and to then use his standing as chief prosecutor to eventually permit an _inmate_ to prosecute in trials?

 _Did Aura tell him that I was likely to be in possession of the Phantom profile?_

Probably not. Edgeworth had been in communication with Wright about his case, and the attorney had seemed rather surprised when he had had his feathered friend fetch it during the retrial.

 _Then why trust a man whom everyone believed to be guilty, who_ insisted _that he was at fault?_

Parts of the UR-1 case _had_ been hushed-up after the initial investigation due to the precarious political ramifications, but that fact alone did not negate a confession, as well as the evidence presented against him. Athena's and Aura's insistence alone were unlikely to have swayed Edgeworth, either.

Perhaps an opportunity to inquire into this matter further would present itself in the near-future.

 _The future. Another long-lost thing that has been returned to me._

After another ten minutes of unseeingly gazing upward, Simon closed his eyes.

* * *

 ** _Two weeks later…_**

Miles was not surprised when his secretary announced Prosecutor Blackquill's arrival at his office door first thing in the morning on Monday, January 5.

Hannah stared up at the former inmate striding past her into the room without paying her any heed before she closed the door; her superior was glad to notice that, while she had seemed intimidated like so often, outright _fear_ had not shown on her face.

Meanwhile, Blackquill had come to a halt next to the visitor's chair, his expression neutral as he minutely inclined his head in greeting. "Edgeworth-dono…"

Although he knew he should invite his subordinate to take a seat, Miles could not keep from studying the man's pale countenance for a long moment. He was not exactly sure what he was looking for – expecting any momentous changes after only two weeks of freedom would be ludicrous.

Blackquill never so much as flinched, calmly enduring the probing look until it was _Miles_ who felt a hint of uneasiness at the continued silence.

"Mr. Blackquill. Sit."

Another nod as his subordinate pulled back the chair and did as he was told, although a glint of amusement seemed to flicker in his eyes for a split second.

"Would you care for some tea?"

It was difficult to come up with a good way to get a conversation going. There was much Miles wanted to ask, and yet he did not wish to come across as wanting to pry, especially since the press had recently warmed up to the topic of the mysterious, closed-door UR-1 retrial. Considering their prior amiable meetings over a cup of tea so long ago, the invitation seemed like a good way to signal to Blackquill that this was not meant to be a stiff and formal occasion.

"… Certainly."

Miles rose, turning towards his tea chest on the windowsill and selecting a fine _gyokuro_ green tea he had received from Franziska a while ago. He took the water boiling decanter off its base in order to allow the liquid inside to cool to the perfect temperature. Then, he unhurriedly set out a couple of cups and individual infusers, the practiced ritual offsetting the knowledge that Blackquill's eyes were on him, quietly looking on.

Finally, the tea was steeping, and he placed one of the cups in front of his subordinate, alongside an additional saucer on which to place the infuser, before serving himself and sitting once more.

Steepling his fingers, Miles decided to forge onward after they had both taken their first sip.

"How have you fared these last two weeks, Mr. Blackquill?"

A harrumph. "As well as can be expected, I assume. I am able to provide you with a cell phone number and an out-of-work e-mail address for contact information; however, a permanent dwelling does not seem to be in my immediate future."

"The reason being…?" The chief prosecutor suppressed a sigh – he had expected something like this, although he wanted to hear his suspicions confirmed by Blackquill before venturing further into this topic.

His subordinate gave him a humorless smirk. "Fear, naturally. Few deigned to respond to my request for a showing to begin with, and those who did – mostly people who did not seem like the type to follow the news – rejected my application after the customary background check. In at least one case, a neighbor of the vacant apartment in question apparently informed the landlord of my identity during my visit to the property, as I was complimented out of the building rather quickly thereafter."

He lifted the cup to his lips once more before stating calmly – _too_ calmly for Miles' taste – , "My reputation precedes me, and likely will for a while yet. I was never under any illusions that my journey back into life would be easy."

 _Is this what resignation looks like according to his code…?_

The blatant discrimination against an, after all, innocent man appalled Miles, but he knew that the populace had a long memory when it came to highly-publicized scandals such as the one Blackquill had been embroiled in. Even in his own high position, there was only so much he could do. He had sent out official press releases regarding his subordinates' exoneration to all major news outlets, but as so often, sensationalism outweighed information provided by "the establishment," especially considering the big deal journalists had made of the so-called "dark age of the law" for so long. Time would be the only thing capable of proving Simon Blackquill innocent in the court of public opinion.

 _Still, it isn't_ right.

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out one of his personal business cards with his home address and private cell phone number, placing it in front of Blackquill.

"Take this. Feel free to list me as a reference on future rental applications. Should you encounter any… incidents such as the one with the neighbor you described to me, urge the landlord to contact me right away, no matter the time. I am willing to give them all the information they require, so long as they don't ask about the items remaining classified."

When Blackquill looked up at him, his impassive façade had finally cracked, revealing surprise.

"I would not tarnish your reputation by implying a personal association…"

His hesitant refusal was interrupted by Miles chuckling quietly. "My _reputation_ , Mr. Blackquill, is not exactly sterling when it comes to the general public, either, as you probably know. To be entirely honest, I'm not certain that my name carries enough positive weight to aid you in your apartment search, but… I won't have my subordinates less-than-ideally situated if I can help it, as this might negatively affect your performance. If referencing me aids you in finding your footing in the outside world again somehow, I will be glad to have been of service."

Blackquill scrutinized him silently for a moment longer, then he picked up the card in front of him and put it in his pocket.

"…Understood. I appreciate your willingness to help."

And yet, it did not seem like it was enough to Miles.

"If you would like, I could have my secretary do some scouting in your stead…"

He stopped talking when Blackquill firmly shook his head. "Thank you for the offer, but no. Ath… Cykes-dono already offered herself up for this endeavor when learning of my difficulties, and I refused her, as well."

Miles raised an eyebrow, inquiring archly, "Might I ask why?"

His subordinate stilled. "… Permission to speak freely."

"Granted."

Blackquill seemed to sort through his thoughts before speaking up again, his gaze avoiding Miles'. "You are in a comparatively secure position in life, and if you choose out of your own free will to associate yourself with me in this manner, I gratefully accept. However, involving the names of those more precariously situated due to their young age, junior standing, or lack of agency… that, I will not stand for."

Miles stared at his subordinate for a moment, once again stunned by the depth of Blackquill's commitment to protect those weaker than him, even if it meant personal sacrifice and the danger was negligible at best.

 _Had it not been for his shouldering the blame for the UR-1 incident, this man would now be a senior prosecutor. Instead of having become a symbol of everything that is amiss with the courts, he could be sitting in my own position at this point, leading the legal system into a new golden age._ The thought was humbling, and only added to his determination to see Blackquill's reputation restored in full, come what may.

Aloud, he stated, "I will respect your convictions in this regard. However, if there is anything more _I_ can do, please don't hesitate to let me know."

A single, sharp nod, accompanied by a muttered, "… Thank you, Edgeworth-dono."

They finished their tea in silence, and after Miles announced that he would likely send a case his subordinate's way as soon as he had settled into his new office and handed over the room key, Blackquill departed.

* * *

Simon spent most of his day setting up his work domain on the eleventh floor of the building. He had recruited two legal aides from the general pool in order to make new copies of all cases he had prosecuted from the original paperwork held in the basement archives, and to retrieve a few items from the storage unit in which Aura had sequestered his sparse belongings alongside her own. They had quaked in their boots, but they had immediately flown into action. Every office was already outfitted with a standard desk, desktop computer, chairs, shelving, and a filing cabinet, but he required a stand for Taka to perch on, seeing that his feathered compatriot frequently deigned to assist him in his professional endeavors. Furthermore, considering that he was at leisure to somewhat customize this place to his liking, he finally wanted to see his collection of blades not meant for practice use mounted on the walls once more.

While busying himself with setting up his office e-mail account and ordering a fresh stack of business cards, now that he knew his professional address, his thoughts wandered back to the short conversation with Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth after first arriving this morning. Yet again, the man had shown him an amount of consideration he had not expected, and personally thought he did not deserve. Certainly, Edgeworth had framed it as a superior aiding his subordinate due to concerns that his performance might suffer, but…

 _Did he offer me aid because he_ pities _me?_

Simon could not help but find the thought loathsome. In his seven years of slowly encroaching death, the only thing that had sustained him had been his pride. He was used to being feared instead of respected by most at this juncture, which was equal parts useful (to scare off irritants and obtain confessions) and unfortunate (he had never found it particularly helpful to have his aides and rank-and-file police officers tremble at the mere sight of him, to not even mention his current problems interacting with the public), but at least both feelings acknowledged him as a force to be reckoned with. _Pity_ , meanwhile, reduced him to his past and his limitations, seeking to strip away the veneer of strength and homing in on his weaknesses.

However… Edgeworth had kept his offers exquisitely professional, and even _if_ he harbored pity for Simon, none of it had surfaced in his words.

 _Perhaps I am being too sensitive_. After all, if their positions were reversed, Simon imagined that he would want to lend a hand to a subordinate in obvious need, not because he would regard them as weak, but out of a desire for them to become _stronger_. Furthermore, he freely accepted Athena's and Aura's concerns for him, even if his sister's were usually veiled in their customary insolence. Why was it so difficult for him to fathom that someone whose past was not as intricately intertwined with his own would take an interest in his well-being?

 _Because the last person who constantly claimed that he wanted to rehabilitate me was a cowardly snake secretly slavering to see me hang in his stead._

He should not let distrust and suspicion of ulterior motives reign over his interactions with everyone aside from the two people closest to him – to do so would amount to admitting that the Phantom had managed to irreparably finalize the distortions his personality had suffered in the clink.

 _Edgeworth-dono is an honorable and upright man. He believed in your innocence in spite of your confession, putting his own reputation on the line to have you prosecute and at least complete your task, without knowing you all his life like Aura, or being able to tell lies from truth like Athena. If_ he _is undeserving of your trust, whom_ can _you trust anymore?_

Simon shook his head at himself. His now-superior had been a pleasant, if somewhat removed, senior colleague prior to his incarceration. More recently, Edgeworth's cool yet surprisingly composed behavior in the face of Simon's façade of insolence after years on death row, of his tower of piled-up lies on the witness stand during the retrial, had forced him into grudging admiration long after he had thought himself to be completely jaded.

So long as the chief prosecutor's offers of help did not segue into the overtly improper or involved others without similar clout, he saw no good reason to refuse.


	3. Chapter 3

As the L.A. county jurisdiction had recently been rather quiet, Miles arrived home when it was still light outside. He had purchased the spacious single-floor suburban house after having been promoted to chief prosecutor; prior to that point, he had been traveling out of the country enough to where anything more than a much smaller condo would have felt excessive, but he relished the peace and quiet of his neighborhood now that he spent most of his days in Los Angeles.

He parked his car in the attached garage and stepped into his home by way of a door leading into the t-shaped main corridor connecting the majority of rooms.

Shrugging out of his suit jacket and loosening his cravat as he walked towards the front of the house, where the living area and kitchen were located, he stopped in the master bedroom for a moment to hang up both items of clothing and step out of his shoes.

As he got to work on preparing a light dinner for himself, Miles could not keep from thinking about Blackquill's problem once more. For now, the man was confined to a space a fraction of the size of this dwelling, which he could not customize to his liking, and in which he had no way of preparing his own food, if one disregarded the possibility of renting a hotel-owned microwave for an extra charge. Granted, his subordinate had made do with far less for years, but these living circumstances were unlikely to be conducive for him to get out of the prison mindset. Miles could tell that Blackquill was still by and large keeping his own counsel, and could not exactly blame him after what had happened with the false Fulbright, but given how much more _personable_ he had been prior to his incarceration, it was still strange and unsettling to behold for someone who had known him back then.

On a more practical front, he mused while drizzling oil into a pan, long-term hotel living also came with the concern of not having a permanent address, which was a requirement to open a bank account and conduct a variety of other official business. Some institutions would accept the address of a workplace instead, but those were few and far between. Another issue was that hotels were usually located in well-traveled areas, and considering that the press was now gathering steam on investigating the UR-1 retrial and Blackquill's exoneration, it was highly probable that he would be hounded by reporters sooner rather than later, if that was not already the case.

Either way Miles looked at it, staying at a hotel would slow his subordinate's public rehabilitation to a crawl. A prosecutor's salary was generally good even at the junior level at which Blackquill had been reinstated, and he had accumulated a good sum of back pay for his work done while still on death row. However, it would not have been enough for a down payment on a condo or a house, which seemed like the only step he could take towards a home of his own if landlords remained reticent to consider his applications. Not only that, staying at a good hotel in an area close to the office, such as the one Miles had dropped him off at that first night, was bound to cut into that sum rather severely, and even downgrading to a cheaper pay-by-week motel would be quite expensive for the services offered, compared to renting an apartment of similar size.

 _The price tag for his freedom remains too high – but what can_ I _do to assist…?_

He was in the process of turning over the chopped-up vegetables he had added into a pan with a spatula prior to adding some pre-made stir fry sauce, when he was struck by an idea. It seemed farfetched. It seemed like something Blackquill would never agree to, considering it overdrawn. And yet… if another few weeks went by without the situation resolving itself…

Miles had purchased this house without a firm plan of how to use all of the space it provided, and kept late hours quite often, so two connecting rooms remained completely unused, one of them adjacent to a small tiled patio area at the back of his home which could be accessed by way of a glass sliding door, and the other to the second full-sized bathroom the floor plan featured. A reasonably-sized closet was also present.

As Miles did not often have house guests, and never for long whenever that was the case, he had not seen a point in setting these unused rooms up as an elaborate guest suite. A smaller chamber closer to the front of the house and furnished with a far smaller bathroom only equipped with a toilet, sink, and shower stall was more than enough for the week or so Franziska deigned to visit him during an average year. He also did not need them for storage – so far, the all but parceled-off space, possibly intended for grown or nearly-grown offspring of the well-to-do family who had had this place built originally, had remained free of any of his belongings, and the door had been locked in order to cut down on his heating and air conditioning bills.

Blackquill would definitely refuse being housed there free of charge. _But what if…_

* * *

It was three weeks after Simon had first reported for duty at the Prosecutor's Office when, halfway through a morning spent on paperwork, a timid knock on his door announced a visitor.

"Come."

He looked up when he heard the handle being hesitantly pushed down in response, revealing Ms. Fright standing on his threshold.

"I hope I'm not disturbing, Prosecutor Blackquill, but… Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth sent me."

As she did not seem overly inclined to actually step into his domain, he nodded to acknowledge his understanding. "State your business, then."

Simon had to admit that he was impressed when she immediately forged ahead instead of freezing at being directly addressed by him – the two aides he had regularly used for his delivery needs if an item was too heavy for Taka to carry had not yet progressed to this stage.

"He told me to tell you that, if you don't already have plans during that time, he would like to have lunch with you in his office, starting at 12:30."

Simon raised an eyebrow at that. Apparently, his superior had decided that it was time to check up on him after their last meeting.

"Very well. Tell Edgeworth-dono that I will be there."

Ms. Fright nodded in response – and then, she _smiled_ at him just before closing the door once more. Simon stared at the spot where she had stood for a moment longer in disbelief before redirecting his gaze back toward the paperwork in front of him with a huff of amusement.

 _It seems her name does not befit her personality._

As he continued writing, he pondered just how he should approach the upcoming lunch meeting, seeing that he had not exactly made a lot of progress in his apartment search. As Edgeworth had surmised, bringing his name into the equation had not made a difference, and even the spreading news of the UR-1 retrial and its result had had little effect. Of course, the reports on his own person were still divided at best – some seemed cautiously inclined to believe in his innocence as it had been officially declared, while others clung to the overarching narrative of the "dark age of the law" and suspected some sort of conspiracy that would let a felon walk free simply because he was a prosecutor.

Since he could not be sure how his words would be twisted and misconstrued, he had so far refused all requests for interviews – if the mudslingers were not inclined to believe an official press release from a public institution, they would hardly take his own words at face value, and he would _not_ be made a fool of to sell a few more papers or advertising minutes. Unfortunately, some of the more persistent specimens had not yet gotten the hint that he was disinclined to cooperate with them. He had had to resort to not-so-veiled threats of legal action more than once to get them off his back, only refraining from bringing up the possibility of physical violence (as he would have during his days as a prisoner without a second thought) as he knew that that would _definitely_ surface in a news report, only serving to once again paint him in the worst possible light in the eyes of the public.

The front desk clerk working the night shift at his hotel had proven herself to be a surprising ally in turning away any members of the press for him, insisting that she was not at leisure to reveal to them whether he was in or not (which he usually _was_ during her shift). Over the last few weeks, they had developed a rapport of sorts, as she was there when he left for work in the morning, and again when he returned at night. Additionally, he often required a nighttime stroll to clear his head prior to going to sleep, at which point they would also routinely encounter each other. While they had not talked a great deal, Simon always made sure to at least nod to her in greeting when he passed the counter; from the second week of his stay onward, she had begun to send him a quick smile in response, first hesitatingly, but then with increasing conviction. Eventually, she had decided to initiate a quick conversation with him, as it had been apparent that he would be there for a while yet, offering him to adjust his file to give him the lowest rate she was authorized to enter into the system since he was apparently the lowest-maintenance long-term guest the establishment had had in a long time.

However, even this unexpected bit of help did not much to detract from the fact that this hotel was fairly upscale, and, even at its lowest weekly rate, quite exorbitantly-priced for the limited space and facilities provided. He would have to relocate to a cheaper place further afield soon, if he did not wish to leave the entirety of his back pay at this establishment.

Simon had by now come to the conclusion that he would likely have to purchase a dwelling of his own, if he preferred not being trapped in a string of motels in the seedier areas of town for the foreseeable future – it could take years until he was considered low-profile, and therefore secure, enough by landlords to be able to rent. The more money he could set aside for this purpose, the better.

He sighed as he put the pen down to pinch the bridge of his nose. For the moment, there was no good solution for his conundrum – he would just have to bide his time.

 _Probably not what Edgeworth-dono wishes to hear, but there is no helping it._

* * *

Two hours later, Simon stepped up to the Ms. Fright's reception desk on the twelfth floor; the secretary immediately escorted him towards the chief prosecutor's office, announcing him to Edgeworth before leaving him at the doorstep.

As he walked towards the desk, his eyes were once again drawn to the 1/10 size original run Steel Samurai figurine in mint condition – while he usually shuddered at the thought of removing such a rare collectible from its box, the slightly different colors used in the paint job seemed to indicate that this might have been a promotional model which had not come in one. It had already been here when he had first begun to work as a prosecutor, and while he had never thought it prudent to ask Edgeworth head-on just where he had procured it and whether it had personal significance for him, he had always found it comforting to know that his prim-and-proper senior colleague-turned-superior apparently indulged in at least one interest he shared.

He redirected his gaze toward the chief prosecutor as he came to stand next to the visitor's chair, and was gestured to sit right away.

"Mr. Blackquill, good afternoon. I originally contemplated going to a restaurant instead, but considering how long it takes to get two seats during lunch time around these parts, I thought it best to order from the downstairs cafeteria. I trust that will be satisfactory?"

Simon nodded. "I have no objections."

"Do you need a menu, or do you know what you want?" Edgeworth inquired.

"As I generally prefer not to leave the building for lunch, I am quite familiar with what's available."

Once Simon had detailed his regular order to his superior, the chief prosecutor asked Ms. Fright to fetch their food by phone, then he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"I am sure you can surmise what my next question is going to be…"

Simon suppressed a sigh. _Best to get it over with right away_.

"Unfortunately, I still fail to bear positive news as to my living circumstances…"

He curtly explained his prior thought processes regarding his continued failure to find a landlord willing to take him on for a lease, stating that he intended to start contacting realtors as soon as his finances allowed, but that it would likely take at least half a year until he would reach the point to be able to make a down payment, particularly given his current living expenses. Just when he had fallen silent once more, the secretary entered the room with their orders. She managed to place the right dishes in front of each of them without even asking which ones belonged to whom, causing Simon to glance up at her with mild surprise for a moment.

"… Thank you, Fright-dono."

She _grinned_ at him before turning to leave. "All in a day's work, Prosecutor Blackquill."

Definitely _not frightened of me._ What a novelty.

After the door had closed behind the secretary, Simon turned back toward Edgeworth, who now sent him a knowing smile. "Ms. Fright, for all her nosey tendencies and initial shyness, is both capable and an excellent judge of character."

The chief prosecutor's gaze flickered to the cardboard containers in front of him. "Well… bon appétit."

They ate in, to Simon, surprisingly companionable silence, although he could tell that he was once again discreetly observed by his superior. The quietude continued once they had finished, Edgeworth now openly studying him as if to decide on whether to bring up some as-yet undisclosed topic.

Finally, he seemed to have come to a decision, as he asked carefully. "Would you potentially be interested in a temporary alternative to a hotel, even if it might seem slightly… unorthodox at first?"

Simon was intrigued in spite of himself. "What did you have in mind?"

To his surprise, a shadow of uncertainty seemed to fall over his superior's expression for a moment before he spoke up again. "First, I would ask that you hear me out in full before rendering judgment."

 _What the blazes…?_

At this point, he was startled into his customary sarcasm before he could control himself. "I have nowhere else to be at the moment. Please, do tell, the suspense is _killing_ me."

A moment later, his brain caught up with his mouth. _Congratulations, Blackquill, this is the deepest you have lodged your foot down your throat in a long time._

Thankfully, Edgeworth did not seem to take his response for insolence – if anything, he appeared to be amused.

"I've had enough dead bodies in this office for my taste, so I'd best begin, then. I own a house in the suburbs, which was originally built for a family, not for a single person. Even though I have lived there for over a year at this point, I've never found a use for two connecting rooms in the back, which also feature a full bath – they almost amount to a separate apartment under the same roof, if not for the lack of a kitchen, which we would have to share..."

 _He can't possibly mean…!_

His superior continued quickly upon seeing his incredulous expression, "I would be willing to rent these rooms to you for the average price the square footage would bring in my neighborhood, of course with a standard, formal written rent agreement between us. This way, you would be able to save money and conduct your affairs more efficiently until you can either purchase your own home, or until you find another landlord with the tenant reference I would be able to provide. If you wish, you are of course welcome to inspect the premises before you make a decision, but I daresay you will find them more adequate than a hotel room."

Simon was not certain what exactly he had expected, but it sure as hell had not been _this_. He became aware of his mouth hanging open slighty in his bafflement, and hurried to close it while trying to come up with something to say.

"I… fear that such a measure might raise accusations of your playing favorites…"

Edgeworth firmly shook his head before he could continue. "No one affiliated with this office, save for the two of us, would have to know. Once you are in possession of a bank account and can have your pay deposited directly, you will only have to furnish payroll with your account and routing numbers, not your address, and official correspondence could be sent to a nearby P.O. box. That is not to say that I would forbid you from letting your acquaintances know where you live, as I know you to be discreet, but I can assure you that there is no need for you to fret over my reputation in considering my offer."

Thinking it over for a moment after his superior had once again fallen silent, Simon could not find a flaw in this plan, try as he might. It _seemed_ like an alternative worthy of consideration, particularly since he did not envision Edgeworth to be an odious person to share a dwelling with. And yet… it _was_ rather unusual.

"… Might I ask for a few days to ponder your gracious offer?"

His superior relaxed slightly. "Of course. And if you want… I would gladly show you around the property sometime this weekend. You have my address and personal contact information – just call ahead before you pay me a visit to ensure I am around."

Their lunch meeting ended soon thereafter, and Simon had the feeling that his expression still betrayed how taken aback he was when he made his way back to his own office.

 _Living under one roof with Edgeworth-dono…?_

It seemed his regained life was determined to get curiouser and curiouser by the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Miles did not really expect the call anymore when it finally came. His cell phone had lain silently within his reach all evening Friday and most of the day Saturday, signaling him with each passing moment that Blackquill had likely come to the conclusion that staying with him was too fraught with potential complications. He had already begun to formulate around on a reassurance for their next semi-formal meeting that _no_ , of course he would not hold this choice against his subordinate either personally or professionally when, suddenly, the orchestra version of the original _Steel Samurai_ theme began to blare from his couch table at about 9 PM Saturday night.

"Yes?"

 _"Apologies for calling at this advanced hour, Edgeworth-dono."_

Miles shook his head automatically, even though no one was around to see it. "No need for apologies. I didn't specify a time frame for you to contact me, after all."

He could hear something resembling a snort at the other end of the connection. _"Nevertheless, no one would consider this a regular hour to do business, and an apology for the imposition is more than called for."_

That got a chuckle out of him. "Very well, apology accepted. I take it you were planning on, er, _imposing_ in person sometime during the next few hours?"

A pause. _"I should be able to find my way there within approximately 30 minutes, if my visiting you this late would not deprive you of rest..."_

"I am not in the habit of going to bed before midnight, Mr. Blackquill, rest assured," Miles responded. "Feel free to come by, I will be present and awake."

 _"Understood. I will see you forthwith."_

The line went dead.

After putting the phone back on the table, Miles rose and walked into his bedroom to retrieve the key for the door which had remained locked for so long.

When he opened it and switched on the light a few minutes later, he promptly wrinkled his nose at the fine layer of dust covering the hardwood floor – since this area of the house had not been in use, he had not asked his weekly maid service to include it in their cleaning routine, also because they were paid by square footage as well as time commitment.

 _I will have to remember to change their instructions, should this arrangement come to pass._

Until then… he would not present Blackquill with dirty rooms, and going over the floorboards with a dust-trapping dry mop could easily be accomplished before his guest arrived.

Decision made, Miles got the necessary implements out of the nearby corridor storage closet, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work.

* * *

After ending his call to Edgeworth, Simon dialed the number of a cab service he had found on one of the hotel's brochures and requested a taxi. Only then, he realized that he would have to withdraw some cash from the lobby ATM prior to his departure, as most cabbies still did not accept credit cards due to the associated cost.

He dressed unobtrusively as he usually did when departing on personal business – while he was still recognizable enough, he saw no reason to further advertise his presence by wearing his surcoat outside of working hours, selecting a plain black trench coat for outerwear, instead.

As his luck would have it, his gaze fell on a young woman in a jacket covered in advertising labels as soon as the elevator doors opened for him downstairs; she was talking intently to the current receptionist, not his regular acquaintance as it was too early yet for her shift. The stranger was carrying a rather old-fashioned tape recorder and a microphone, the former fastened to a wide strap slung over her shoulder.

 _I smell trouble._

Simon made a beeline for the ATM, not too quickly in order to not attract attention and careful not to make eye contact with her, but of course his efforts proved futile. He heard footsteps approaching him as he punched in his pin number, and just when the machine began to make a whirring sound in preparation of dispensing his money, the reporter spoke up.

"Hi there, the name's Nicole Swift, and if ya wouldn't mind, I'd love to talk with ya for a sec…"

"I do, in fact, mind," he interrupted her spiel brusquely without so much as turning around to face her, reaching for his money and unceremoniously stuffing it into his pocket. "Go away."

"Aww, come on, it really wouldn't take long…"

He could _feel_ the touch coming before it could connect with him, sidestepping it and whirling around to glare at the woman.

"No. Comment. And I would strongly advise against trying to lay hand on my person, for future reference, lest you relish the possibility of a lawsuit. Have a good evening."

The last six syllables were veritably _dripping_ with venom.

Thankfully, the taxi pulled up underneath the front canopy just at that moment, and Simon strode towards the exit with long steps, leaving the momentarily stunned Swift in the dust. He gave the cab driver Edgeworth's home address and leaned back for an instant – only to hear the small engine of a scooter stutter to live behind the car when it was about to turn toward the open road.

 _Oh for_ fuck's _sake, of course she would have to be the persistent type._

He sighed and addressed the driver. "This may sound like a horrid cliché, however… if you would like to earn yourself an additional 20 dollars, lose the woman following us well before we approach our destination. I do not wish for her to know where I am going."

The man – a somewhat weasel-faced individual with a shock of dishwater-blond hair and a goatee of the same color – turned halfway towards him as he gave his passenger an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "You got it! Leave it to the excellent driving skills of Larry Butz, ace cabbie extraordinaire!"

Simon barely had time to wonder whatever he had done to deserve being surrounded by fools today before Butz stomped on the gas pedal and the car careened into traffic.

* * *

After he had cleaned the rooms he intended to offer to Blackquill to his satisfaction, Miles checked his watch and found that it was almost time for his subordinate to arrive. He noticed with distaste that his crisp white shirt now featured a faint streak of gray on it – apparently, he had not paid enough attention when disposing of the static sheet he had used.

It could not be helped – he did not want to be held up by being in the middle of changing clothes when the doorbell rang, and he had the feeling that, should they end up living together, Blackquill would see him in less-than-perfect attire at least once in a while.

Miles sat back down on the couch, unable to keep from brushing at the stain once in a while, and waited. And waited. And _waited_.

 _It's not like him to be late – did something happen…?_

He was about to reach for his phone and verify that his subordinate had not gotten lost when finally, a buzzing sound from the short front corridor announced that someone had arrived at his door.

Miles thought that Blackquill seemed ever-so-slightly green around the gills when he admitted him inside.

"I must once again apologize – I would have been here on time, except I found myself forced to rid myself of rather dogged mudslinger before my arrival."

 _A reporter. Of course._ In that case, the additional time it had taken him to get here had been well-spent – the whole purpose of this exercise was creating a private space for the man, after all.

"I see. Well, please come in. If you'd like, feel free to hand me your coat…"

His subordinate looked strangely naked in nothing but shirtsleeves after ridding himself of the unfamiliar long, black outer garment – come to think of it, Miles could not remember a point in time at which Blackquill had _not_ worn his embroidered _jinbaori_ , save for those odd fifteen minutes at the detention center a year ago, and he had not exactly been free to choose his outfit during that encounter. Somehow, the absence of the quasi-martial attire served to make him appear more approachable, perhaps even _younger_. These days, he often forgot that Blackquill was the same age as Franziska, considering the gravity with which he spoke, and the cynical streak living in adverse conditions for years had unearthed within him.

After Miles had draped the trench coat over a free hanger and put it on the coat rack next to his own assortment of outerwear, he gestured toward the inside of the house. "Follow me, please."

He had decided to first show Blackquill the offered rooms themselves, and finish with a quick general tour of the house. His subordinate tagged along silently for most of it, making it difficult for Miles to gauge his thoughts. He only spoke up when his guide opened the door leading into the large side room where the exercise equipment was kept.

"The matted space… might I ask what purpose it serves?"

Blackquill jabbed his chin at the pale blue matting at the far end of the room for emphasis when Miles looked up at him, causing the latter to smile minutely. _Why did I have a feeling that this would catch your interest…?_

He answered, "I started practicing _tai qi chuan_ about five years ago, as I wanted to enable myself to deal with potential violent offenders encountered during my investigations without having to rely solely on my detective. As I spend my days primarily behind my desk in my current position, I've since abandoned group practice, although I still use _qigong_ for stress relief on a daily basis."

Knowing that the question had likely not only been aimed at finding out more about his person, he continued after a moment, "Incidentally… should you decide to accept my offer, you would of course be welcome to help yourself to any of the equipment if I'm not using it."

"I did not mean to imply…"

"Please, Mr. Blackquill," Miles cut in before his guest's preemptive negation fully emerged. "It would be neither an imposition, nor would I restrict your movements or require a request for permission every time you would like to make use of something, so long as I don't find you in my personal bedroom without an invitation. Don't see this place as an extension of the office, but a prospective _home_."

His subordinate stared at him for a few seconds, but finally nodded.

Closing the door, Miles felt the near-overwhelming urge to shake his head. Quite obviously, Blackquill was experiencing difficulties in _not_ seeing him as "the boss," even in a private space. While he cared a great deal for propriety, himself, he could see living with the office hierarchy in place 24/7 becoming tiresome rather quickly. It would be like…

… _like growing up at the von Karma estate, only with_ me _as the head of household._

He shuddered internally. _Anything but that._

On a whim, he decided to show his guest the next room over, which he had originally intended to leave out of this walkaround, before doubling back to the living area and kitchen.

 _I would appreciate it if you came to accept that I_ do _have a private side before we jump into this._

When he switched on the light in the small, shelf-lined chamber, he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, causing him to smile behind a quickly raised hand. This was the place where he kept his collectibles – he indulged in the occasional model-building kit and had a profound weakness for _Steel Samurai_ figurines. Only Franziska had known of this hobby so far; she was actually responsible for a good third of the present collection, although she never failed to make fun of him for his "childish preoccupation" whenever she sent him another gift-wrapped box on the occasion of his birthday or Christmas.

"I'm sure you of all people will appreciate that this room operates under a firm 'look, but don't touch' policy," he commented wryly as he stepped aside, allowing Blackquill access.

It was oddly touching to see the insufficiently disguised delight on his subordinate's face as he drew near the shelf at the far end of the room, inspecting the completed model of Neo-Olde Tokyo Castle which featured guard miniatures patrolling the walls and an intricately detailed surrounding landscape, everything carefully painted by hand. Miles was inordinately proud of how well this piece had turned out after nearly 100 hours of painstaking labor.

"This is… quite the collection." Blackquill's reverent tone revealed the awe his words somewhat failed to convey. When he turned to face Miles once more, the latter merely shrugged.

"Everyone needs a hobby. Well, shall we move on?"

He glanced over at Blackquill as they walked back towards the front of the house, noticing with satisfaction that his guest's posture seemed much more relaxed now. _Mission accomplished._

When they entered the kitchen, Miles steered straight towards the fridge and opened it, showcasing that it was, as so often, quite empty – as frequently as he took his meals at the office, he was in the bad habit of forgetting to go grocery shopping on a regular basis.

"You can probably tell that sharing refrigerator space won't be much of an issue, and you are welcome to avail yourself of dishes, silverware, and cooking utensils as you please, as long as you clean up after yourself."

"Of course. I was on scrubbing detail in the clink on a regular basis, and all prisoners were expected to keep their cells clean in order to facilitate inspections. I am not exactly accustomed to leaving messes unaddressed," Blackquill immediately responded.

Miles nodded. "Excellent. This concludes our tour. If you would follow me…"

He led his subordinate to the living room couch, gesturing for him to sit while seating himself, and reached for a slim folder which contained the paperwork he had prepared. Before handing it over, he inquired, "Your thoughts?"

Blackquill was silent for a few long seconds. When he spoke up, his tone was contemplative. "Naturally, everything appears more than satisfactory, but I must ask once more… are you certain that you would burden yourself with my presence, even once the workday has come to an end, for an unspecified span of time? Of course I appreciate the offer – how could I not? – but I would not risk your respect with a display of private proclivities which you might find unfortunate…"

Now, Miles _did_ sigh. "Mr. Blackquill – _Simon_." The ploy of using the man's first name had worked once before to rattle him out of an ingrained set of behaviors a week ago, and he was counting on the fact that it would do so again in this vastly different setting.

His subordinate glanced at him in mild surprise, giving him the opening he had hoped for.

"As I already stated, I would like you to make this your _home_ , if you choose to sign the papers I prepared," Miles forged on. "I am quite prepared to keep our work affiliation and our private interactions strictly separate – what happens in these four walls _stays_ within them. You are free to wear what you like within the boundaries of common decency, to come and go as you like – you will have your own set of keys –, and invite whomever you wish for personal visits, as I sincerely doubt you are of the college fraternity bent and prone to raucous partying deep into the night…"

Blackquill snorted. "Hardly – not that I would possess any acquaintances given to such behaviors to begin with, or rather, all that many who would still care to acknowledge me in general."

"There we are, then," Miles drove his point home. "I like to think that we would get along quite well, no matter the time frame in question, so long as you can agree to the caveat that the workplace environment stays _at work_. I, too, like to metaphorically 'let my hair down' on occasion, as they say, and I would rather be considered something akin to a housemate than an aloof higher-up in a hierarchy that does not apply here."

On impulse, he stretched out his arm, offering up his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

The look Blackquill shot him at that was a little peculiar, as if mingled disbelief and _hope_ were warring with his remaining reticence inside of him.

Then, he visibly pushed himself into a decision and leaned forward, reaching out and grasping the proffered hand firmly with his own, shaking it once before letting go once more. "Very well, we have a deal."

His acceptance felt like a personal triumph to Miles, considering the long years during which the ex-inmate had willfully isolated himself in a bid to keep his secrets hidden from everyone else. Smiling at Blackquill for a moment, he now handed him the folder with the rent contract he had prepared.

"Here is the obligatory paperwork – you will find that all phrasings are standard, but please take your time to read it. I wouldn't have you sign anything before you have ascertained its contents."

His subordinate left his signature on the contract before long, and Miles offered him a ride back to his hotel for his final night without a permanent home. This time around, Blackquill did not even bother to object before gratefully accepting.


	5. Chapter 5

When Simon awoke the following day, he still could not quite believe that he had officially spent his last night in his hotel room. As he had not much to pack, he collected his sparse assortment of personal items and clothing into a medium-sized black velour travel bag after completing his morning routine, and departed for the lobby for the final time soon thereafter. He was momentarily saddened by the fact that the night clerk with whom he had developed a friendly connection was not manning the front desk at this point, and decided to at least leave her a note with her colleague before turning in his key card. Their acquaintance might have been brief and based on fleeting greetings, but considering that most still preferred to look the other way when he approached, it had been a much-needed breath of fresh air.

He seated himself in the small lounge area opposite the counter to forage for a pen, a piece of paper, and an envelope in his belongings.

 _What was her name again…?_ Thankfully, he had an excellent visual memory, and was able to picture her name tag in his mind. _Ah, yes._

Putting pen to paper, he thought for a moment, then scrawled,

 **Bell-dono,**

 **as I am finally moving on from my transitory existence at your establishment today, I wanted to express my thanks to you for not deciding to turn me away on the spot on my first eve of freedom, as well as for your tacit help over the course of the last few weeks. I would file a more official laudation with your manager, but fear that it would likely not mean much, given the name attached to it. In lieu of this, please accept the enclosed sum. May life treat you well.**

 **– Simon Blackquill**

He folded the sheet around a $100 bill, keeping the money from being visible through the thin paper of the envelope so no one else would be tempted to take it, and left his sealed message with the current clerk when he checked out.

As he stepped into the bright sunlight, he found himself contemplating whether it might not be a little early to bother Edgeworth just yet. Certainly, they would probably cross each other's paths almost every morning from now on, but considering that it was only just 8 AM, it did not seem like an auspicious start to potentially startle his superior – no, _housemate_ – out of sleep on the very first day.

However, he knew of another person who by-and-large shared his waking hours at the moment, if only because they were imposed on her by the state.

 _Time to pay Aura a visit_ _– it's been a while._

* * *

Walking to the detention center, in which visitation hours for longer-term inmates of the prison proper were also conducted, did not take Simon long. It still felt odd to enter the building through the front door and sign in at the reception desk, as a free man visiting someone else rather than the other way around – perhaps his memories of being on the wrong side of the glass for so long were why he could only bring himself to show up here once every two weeks or so. Well, that, and…

"Good morning, blockhead."

He sent his sister, who had just sat down, a sneer. "And the same to you, insufferable harridan. Can we proceed to the bit where we pretend to be civilized for a few minutes now?"

Aura snorted. "Fine, if you insist…"

Simon saw with relief that, while she _did_ look somewhat tired, she did not seem to experience the crushing insomnia that had afflicted him during his stint.

Then again, her sentencing had been lenient, thanks to the Wright Agency's efforts – three years in a minimum-security tract, with the possibility of parole after the first year served. Athena and Wright-dono had reasoned, and correctly so, that Aura had been driven into her crime by extreme circumstances, namely his own impending execution, and that the risk of her repeating her deeds in any other situation was exceedingly low. Furthermore, she had not harmed any of the hostages, and had turned herself in right away when his sentence had been overturned, even before the trial had been concluded. What she had done had been wrong, but no harm had been done – in fact, in the end, her intervention had prevented greater harm, as an innocent man would have been executed and the murderer responsible for the crimes in question would have walked free, had it not been for her.

And on a more personal note… although her current living circumstances might not be ideal, finally having the closure of knowing that Metis Cykes' murderer had been caught, _and_ resting assured in the fact that Simon lived on, likely afforded her a peace of mind she had not felt in years.

Aura noticed how he was studying her when he did not respond to her words right away, and lifted a hand to run it through her hair, which now fell loosely over her shoulders.

"There, still no white yet, even though I'm an old lady compared to you, _baby brother_. Satisfied?"

He smirked at her, feeling the tension at once again being in this place leaving him somewhat. "Quite. Not that I would expect gray hair to take off your edge."

His sister mirrored his expression. "It didn't manage in your case, why would I be any different?"

Then, her gaze fell on his bag sitting next to the visitor's chair. "Going somewhere?"

"Not exactly," Simon replied. "I am merely changing living arrangements as of today…"

He stopped talking when Aura emitted a small gasp, her insolent façade all but gone for a moment. "You _found_ something?"

Simon had regaled her with tales of his odyssey of attempting to find a landlord willing to rent to him the last two times he had visited, and his sister was quite aware of the fact that he had been highly unlikely to sign a lease anytime soon. Although she had joked that she could more than understand no one wanting to live in his general vicinity, he had known that she had sympathized with his plight. However, this split-second reaction of unconcealed _happiness_ for him told him more than anything that, in spite of her abrasive words, and in spite of the fact that she was still angry with him for a great number of things, she would never cease caring.

Suppressing a smile, he stated, "In a fashion. The arrangement is somewhat unorthodox and I will be sharing some facilities with another person, but after years in the clink, that is hardly a concern."

"So… you'll live with someone else?" His sister inquired. A moment later, her eyebrows drew together. "It's not the little princess, is it?"

Simon barked out a laugh. "No. She offered a while back, but I would have none of it – her apartment is about the size of a shoebox, and I did not wish for her to get in trouble with her landlord."

Now, Aura was apparently intrigued, as she immediate pushed on. "So, who is it, then? Come on, spill the beans already!"

"Very well. Edgeworth-dono offered to let me formally rent a few rooms of his house which have stood empty so far... what is it?"

His sister was staring at him with a mixture of skepticism and surprise. "Edgeworth. As in, magenta suit, ridiculous pirate ruffles around his neck, glasses, prim-and-proper, Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth?"

"The very same," Simon verified, although he felt it necessary to add in a lowered voice, "… and it might be best for everyone involved if you did _not_ repeat his name within earshot of others in this context. While he has not sworn me to secrecy as to our forthcoming shared living circumstances, I can't imagine he would be thrilled to find a slavering pack of bloodhounds and muckrakers on his doorstep come tomorrow morning."

"They're still after you, eh? Can't imagine why – your mug isn't _that_ photogenic," his sister promptly shot back, although her expression told him that she had conceded the point for the time being. "Is this rent agreement going to be a temporary deal?"

He shrugged slightly in response. "The contract itself does not limit the term, although I hope to make a down payment on a dwelling of my own sooner rather than later."

"… That sounds like a sensible solution. It's definitely better than hotel hopping for forever and three days. I'm actually surprised you agreed to it," Aura concluded with an arched eyebrow.

Simon snorted – of course she would know that he had had a number of initial misgivings. "I will admit that it took him a while to convince me."

"I bet!" Aura laughed. A moment later, her features softened. "He's really not so bad for a prosecutor, is he?"

Seven years ago, Simon would have launched into an earnest, fiery defense of his senior. Now, however, he merely allowed a genuine smile past his defenses. "No. No, he isn't."

* * *

After leaving the detention center, Simon directed his steps to a slightly out-of-the-way coffee shop he had been frequenting for a while to have breakfast. The establishment was clean, quiet, and he had never been spotted by a journalist there, which had allowed him to relax for a precious half-hour here and there when not ensconced in his office or his hotel room. How odd a thought that, starting from today, this feeling might become the norm, rather than the exception…

While sipping on his coffee, he located the number of the cab service he had used last night in the call log of his cell phone, and requested a driver to pick him up at his current location. He would arrive at Edgeworth's door at about 10:45 AM at this point, which should be late enough to not unintentionally rouse the man from slumber even on a Sunday.

When the taxi pulled up in front of the shop, he stepped out – and froze for a moment. Behind the wheel was the same weasel-faced man who had driven him last night.

 _There goes my breakfast._

Grimacing, Simon opened the back door, deposited his bag on the seats, and got into the car, making sure to fasten his seatbelt.

The driver recognized him right away. Grinning widely, he exclaimed, "Oh hey, you again! Any tails to lose today? Leave it to me!"

"Ah… no, thank you," Simon hastily declined before giving him the address. "And you are welcome to take your time today."

"Aww…" The cabbie drooped for a moment as he fiddled with his navigation system. He perked up once more when he recognized his passenger's destination to be the same as last night. After pulling away from the curb, he casually asked, "Hottie living where you're going? Pretty fancy area, I bet she's amazing!"

Simon could hardly believe his ears. Small talk? From a _taxi driver_? Who seemed to have absolutely _no_ idea as to the identity of his passenger?

Perhaps it was for that reason that he was startled into actually answering the off-color inquiry. "If you must know, I'm going… home."

The word felt strange on his lips.

"Home, huh?" The driver – Harry Mutz, or whatever his name was again – completely ignored the short pause. "Good place to be, home, no matter where that is. You've been staying in that hotel until last night though, right? Argument?"

By now certain that the man did not know who he was, Simon decided to respond in generalities, as he could tell that Mutz was not the type to shut up if he did not get a reply – and given his questionable ability to follow traffic rules, rattling the man by threatening him seemed more dangerous than it was worth. "Things were a bit more complicated than that. My calling my destination 'home' is a very recent development."

"So you're staying with someone from today," the cabbie observed. "Did that for a long time, myself, while I was trying to make a living drawing picture books. Didn't work out in the end, though. Not that I'm gonna tell you how to live your life, but… having a place of your own is still best in the end. It always looks like a great idea to live with friends, but sooner or later, you end up in a stupid argument, and before you know it, you're out on the street again, and your buddy isn't your buddy anymore after that. I've lost a bunch of 'em that way, I should know."

Simon was about to cut the man's ramblings short with a pointed _Silence!_ , but when he went over them in his mind once more, their truth gave him pause.

 _Edgeworth-dono said that he would put up with me in private and keep the happenings at his house separate from office matters, but is this even possible?_

Considering that, in spite of his spur-of-the-moment decision to give in to his superior's repeated overtures last night and sign the rent contract, he was still concerned about the potential repercussions, Mutz' words were not exactly reassuring. Furthermore, he suddenly recalled the crudity with which he had addressed the chief prosecutor during their first meeting in years at the detention center…

 _We aren't friends. We aren't even ordinary colleagues. Edgeworth-dono is my superior, and has had to deal with a lot of grief on my behalf. For some reason, he wishes to take responsibility for my rehabilitation in the outside world, but I would hardly call that a fertile basis for successful long-term cohabitation. Although he doesn't owe me respect in his position, he still chooses to bestow it upon me. I cannot risk losing that._

They would both be best served by Simon striking out on his own as soon as was possible, and until then, he would attempt to be as little of a bother as he possibly could.

The remainder of the drive passed in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

Miles was relaxing on the couch with his breakfast – a cup of Earl Grey tea and a buttered croissant – when the doorbell announced a visitor. Having an inkling who it was, he immediately rose and opened the entrance door for Blackquill, his eyes falling on the travel bag slung over his subordinate's shoulder.

"Good morning. Please, come in."

His housemate-to-be stepped over the threshold with a nod. He was once more dressed in "civilian" attire, and busied himself with hanging his own coat this time while Miles closed the door behind him.

"Have a seat. I am not quite finished taking breakfast – if you don't mind waiting, I will get your keys and a copy of our rent agreement for your records once I am done. Would you like a cup of tea? A croissant?"

"No, thank you."

Seating himself on the couch once more and watching Blackquill sit down in the adjacent armchair, Miles could _tell_ that there was once more something gnawing on the man.

 _Cold feet in hindsight? Or did something happen?_

In an attempt to make small talk, he asked, "Where is your bird? I was certain you would bring him along. You _are_ aware that our contract states you are at leisure to keep a pet…?"

A moment of hesitation. "I recall the clause. It is just… Taka is a valued compatriot, not my _pet_. I swore a long time ago that I wouldn't confine him in an enclosed space in order to assuage my own needs ever again, and I intend to honor my promise to him. He accompanies me in my line of work out of his own volition, and sometimes deigns to visit with me, but he usually gets restless after a few hours at a time indoors."

 _Ever again…?_ Miles wondered whether Blackquill's oath to his feathered friend had arisen from an incident in prison, but knew better than to pry just yet. Instead, he responded quietly after taking another sip of his tea, "I understand. I used to keep a dog, years ago. She was a Golden Retriever. Unfortunately, she passed away of old age, but up to that point, she was a valued companion, never a possession. Obviously, the situation was not quite the same, given that a raptor requires more freedom than a more domesticated animal, but I'm familiar with the notion of wanting the best for a non-human friend."

"… I see. My condolences for your loss." In spite of his hesitation, Blackquill's voice now sounded slightly warmer.

Miles' eyes fell on the surprisingly small bag his new housemate had deposited next to his chair as he finished eating his croissant and pushed the now-empty plate away.

"Will the remainder of your belongings arrive later?"

Blackquill seemed embarrassed. "This is almost everything I currently own, save for a few small personal effects remaining in storage. As you might know, I lived with my sister prior to my seven years in the clink, and considering that there was no expectation for me to ever leave that fine establishment alive again…"

 _Of course_. Miles barely withstood the urge to smack his forehead. Hiding his consternation at himself behind a clearing of the throat, he felt compelled to offer, "I have no set plans for today. If you would like to go shopping for a few basics… I would rather you didn't have to sleep on the bare floor, to name just one example, or you might fall asleep on me during your work hours tomorrow."

His housemate's responding smile was more than a little lopsided. "While I can _promise_ you that that would not occur… it would be, ah, _pleasant_ not to make wooden planks my bedding, come this evening."

Miles could easily tell that Blackquill had only accepted his idea with some difficulty, based on his tone, and that he had a hard time not apologizing for the imposition yet again.

 _I'm being too judgmental. If I'd been in his situation, I would be hard-pressed to reach for the first outstretched hand, myself._

While he hoped that his continued offers of help did not diminish Blackquill's self-worth too egregiously, he somehow could not keep himself from wanting to provide the ex-inmate with the resources his housemate could not procure just yet. _Because dammit, he_ deserves _the help_.

Still, once he had everything he needed, Miles should probably back off somewhat, or Blackquill would dig in his heels at obviously becoming a _project_ rather than being viewed as a person.

 _Don't try to turn him into a replacement for your dog just because you haven't lived with people in years._ Blackquill was far more like his hawk, in a way – fundamentally solitary, proud, and in need of more freedoms than life had granted him up to this point.

Miles rose to take his used dishes into the kitchen. At the threshold to the other room, he stated while looking back over his shoulder, "Get your coat and wait for me by the door at the end of the left branch of the main hallway. We'll leave as soon as I put on my shoes."

 _Let's get this done, so he can settle in and have some alone time._

* * *

Half an hour later, they arrived at an Ikea store at the outskirts of town. Miles had suggested a more upscale establishment with sturdier, ready-made furniture products at first, only to be met with a firm headshake. "As I am currently attempting to recuperate my hotel expenses and accumulate savings, I would rather purchase cheaper items for the time being, even if they should not last quite as long."

Blackquill briskly and methodically strode through the rows as soon as they entered the establishment, picking out a basic book shelf, a small desk and an office chair, a low-legged table and cushion seats, a television stand and an almost insultingly tiny TV with a built-in DVD/BluRay player, some Japanese-style straw matting, and finally, a frameless queen-sized futon, two pillows and a light blanket. He garnered a number of suspicious and even frightened looks, but resolutely kept his eyes on his task, although Miles could not keep himself from raising an accusing eyebrow at the most overt displays of this behavior more than once, causing quickly downcast gazes and even a cowed expression or two. The two prosecutors concluded their business at the store in record time.

As most of Blackquill's newly-acquired furniture required assembly and came in flat, compact boxes, everything ended up fitting into Miles' car, even though it was not meant for transporting cargo – probably exactly what his housemate had intended.

They were on their way back to the house a mere hour and a half after their arrival at the store, when Miles recalled that he had not informed his subordinate of all the routine goings-on at his house yet.

"I forgot to mention last night… I have a cleaning service coming in once weekly to dust, sweep, vacuum and, if necessary, clean the windows. They also take care of delivering my office attire to my dry cleaner. Usually, they come by every Wednesday morning before I leave for work – I return home during lunch to see them off. If you could, please leave your rooms unlocked on that day, and they will take care of cleaning them, as well. You're welcome to rely on them for your dry cleaning needs, as well. And before you protest… I have calculated part of their cost into your rent, although I would be willing to adjust the amount downward if you'd prefer to do your own cleaning…"

"No, that will be satisfactory," Blackquill quickly replied; when Miles looked over at him for a moment, his lips were twitching traitorously. "I may not be averse to cleaning up after myself, but I'm quite content to leave it to others, if given the choice."

He chuckled. "Excellent, that's settled, then."

Soon, Miles steered his car back into his garage. After he had opened the door and stepped out, he called out to Blackquill, "Catch."

A moment later, his astounded housemate was holding the car keys in his outstretched hands.

 _I won't offer help with this – he's more than capable of unloading the car on his own, and if I lent a hand, he would definitely find it overbearing._

"Please make sure to lock the doors once everything is inside. Should you need additional tools for assembling your furniture, you can find a small assortment in the red tool chest next to the house entrance over there. Return the car keys to me at your leisure – I will be in the living room."

"Of course." Blackquill sounded ever-so-slightly relieved, telling Miles that he had chosen correctly. He gave his housemate a friendly nod, and left him to his own devices.

* * *

Miles spent the afternoon sitting on the couch reading a book; Blackquill did not emerge once from his rooms after returning the car keys to his housemate, though he was obviously busy, if the thumping noises and the occasional muffled curse were any indication.

At about 7:30 PM, his stomach reminded the chief prosecutor with a dull rumbling sound that it had been a while since he had last eaten, and he was halfway to the kitchen when he realized that his housemate had been fasting for even longer than that, given that he had not seen Blackquill taking any food all day, nor purchasing anything while they had been out and about.

 _Damn him for being too proud to ask – he probably forgot all about it earlier because he was too concerned about stepping on my feet somehow._

Well, he was not about to let the man starve himself until leaving the house tomorrow, whether he considered it appropriate or not.

Miles found a half-empty jar of marinara sauce and an assortment of vegetables in the fridge, and decided on preparing pasta for dinner. Since the loaf of bread in the box was on the verge of going stale, it was quickly cut up and slathered with butter and freshly minced garlic before being arranged on a baking sheet and put in the oven as an accompaniment. Fifteen minutes later, the makeshift supper was prepared and divided up onto two plates, and Miles left one of them on the dining table behind the upholstered seating group while making his way back towards Blackquill's rooms with the other, knocking on the door to signal his arrival.

A moment later, the door opened from the inside, startling him slightly – he had not heard his housemate approach. The reason became clear immediately when he could not help looking Blackquill over: He had taken off his boots and changed into an old pair of jeans and a faded black t-shirt, his clothing now adorned with streaks of dust thanks to working on putting his furniture together all day, his hair more than a little disheveled.

"Yes…?"

The word startled Miles out of inspecting his subordinate, and he offered up the plate he was carrying. "Here. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you haven't eaten anything since your arrival…"

Blackquill's eyes widened slightly as he beheld the food, then his expression betrayed a hint of contriteness. "… It hadn't crossed my mind, to be honest. Thank you."

 _It 'hadn't crossed your mind?'_ Perhaps Blackquill's failure to think of sustenance had had more to do with not having a set routine in this new environment, rather than pride. The hotel had offered a breakfast buffet during set times, similarly to the set dining periods in jail and the scheduled lunch break at the office. No wonder the man was still obviously several pounds lighter than he had been before his incarceration – now that he was _not_ wearing multiple layers of clothes for once, Miles could see the slimness of his waist, although the lean muscle revealed by his shirt from his mid-upper arms downward spoke of a good amount of physical strength.

Noticing that Blackquill had still not reached out to take the food from him after a few seconds of silence, Miles' lips quirked into a wry smile. "It doesn't eat itself, you know…"

"… Apologies. Thank you once again," his housemate intoned a little too quickly, as if he had been caught while deep in thought. When his hands closed around the rim of the plate, he added quietly and without looking directly at his superior, "I would ask that you let me take care of cleaning up the kitchen in exchange. It is the least I can do for the consideration you have shown me today."

That, Miles could live with – while he once again found himself wishing that Blackquill was able to accept gestures of kindness without feeling the need to offer something in return, he reminded himself that the other man had already taken a few tremendous steps in moving in today, and in letting Miles take him to the stores earlier. _He is not your pet, nor your child, and you want him to stand on his own two feet._

Aloud, he responded, "As you wish. For my part, I apologize for your welcome meal turning out this paltry, but you have seen that my fridge was not exactly well-stocked last night – I will likely have to go grocery shopping tomorrow after work, and you would be welcome to accompany me. Are you reasonably well situated for now?"

"Quite." Blackquill seemed about to utter something more, perhaps yet another expression of thanks, but then thought better of it.

 _Good. Stop thanking me, before_ I _become self-conscious._

"Excellent." Miles nodded, resisting the urge to invite the man out to the living room to eat with him – something told him that it would only increase their current awkwardness with each other yet again. _Another time, perhaps, when he has loosened up some._ "Well… enjoy your evening."

He only saw Blackquill twice more that night: when the man emerged from his domain to carry his dirty dishes to the kitchen, and when he once more passed through the living area twenty minutes later to return to his part of the house. A few hours later, Miles stepped into the adjacent room to prepare himself a chamomile tea before turning in, and he was not surprised to find all dishes rinsed and placed into the dishwasher and the counters wiped clean while reaching for a cup in the upper cabinets.

As he carried the beverage back with him to his bedroom, switching off all lights along the way, he thought while gazing down the corridor, _Welcome home, Mr. Blackquill._


	7. Chapter 7

The work week passed quickly; aside from the announced grocery run Monday evening, Miles had caught sight of Blackquill for less than an hour combined – his subordinate left the house far earlier than himself and returned later, probably in order to avoid public transit rush hours. They usually only ran into each other in the kitchen, with Miles' housemate often still clad in his work attire. If it was not for these chance encounters, for a few coats and pairs of shoes in the entrance area of the house that were not his own, and for the additional items in the refrigerator, he honestly would have a hard time remembering that the other man was even living here; Blackquill never left so much as a speck of dirt behind outside of his rooms, took pains to rinse any used dishes immediately and put them in the dishwasher, and otherwise kept to himself after getting home at night.

These circumstances _should_ amount to his being relieved at the ex-inmate's insistence on making headway at rebuilding his life his own way. Furthermore, anyone else would likely be more than happy to live with someone this concerned about not making a nuisance of himself. Instead, Miles found it uncanny to share a house with a man who might as well not be there at all, save for taking quick meals and sleeping under the same roof at night.

Additionally, he was aware that Blackquill had also not met with anyone else over the course of the week, unless he had used his time in the early morning to do so – his subordinate was still home too early to have gone out with acquaintances, such as the young Ms. Cykes, for dinner, and seemed to have no hobbies to speak of. Once in a while, Miles heard him opening the door to the workout room down the corridor in the evening, as he had quickly caught on to the fact that his benefactor mostly used it before completing his morning routine and knew it to be empty, but otherwise, Blackquill remained in his own domain, unseen and unheard. All things considered, it seemed like a rather _drab_ way of existing.

Therefore, when Miles checked his personal e-mails during lunchtime Friday, and discovered that a new _Steel Samurai_ special was set to air the following night, he decided to invite his elusive housemate to watch it with him out in the living area, rather than locked away in his personal rooms – considering Blackquill's reaction to his private memorabilia collection, and the way the other man had always eyed the figurine on his office windowsill with interest even back in the days before his incarceration, he was _certain_ that he had a fellow enthusiast on his hands.

 _It's not an offer of help, merely one to indulge in a shared interest together. He shouldn't find issue with that._

* * *

Simon looked up from his laptop screen, where he had just received another instant message from Athena, when there was a knock on his door Friday evening.

During the last five days, he had already been able to sleep more restfully than during his stay at the hotel – there were no doors opening and closing far into the night, his rooms faced another person's backyard rather than the road, separated from this property by a tall hedge, and this suburban area saw little traffic after hours. It was quiet, dark, and altogether _restful_. Only now that he finally had a place to call his own for the first time in the better part of a decade did it fully dawn on him how different it was from everything he had known for most of his adult life – no one sleeping or passing by mere feet from his cot, keeping him awake with snoring or some sort of late night racket; no surprise inspections at three in the morning; no nosy reporters to avoid whenever he wanted to get something to eat or take care of his laundry, as both food and facilities were available to him without leaving the house.

He mostly avoided being out in the open except for work-related reasons, as he still received frequent e-mail requests and calls for interviews, and was certain that he would be hounded by a mudslinger the moment he let his vigilance slip. Thankfully, going to the office early and returning late had so far worked well in avoiding attention, as the buses were generally almost empty whenever he frequented them – he found himself letting out a sigh of relief when he stepped off the vehicle in his new neighborhood at night and found that nobody had followed suit, as he would feel obliged to walk around aimlessly for at least an hour to ensure he did not inadvertently lead someone to his superior's doorstep.

That was not to say that he had not cautiously begun reforging at least one personal connection, however – after creating a (heavily warded) social media presence back during his transitory days at the hotel, Athena had naturally sussed him out almost right away, and they had begun trading messages back and forth. Initially, she had only wanted to assuage her concerns that he was doing all right, as she was aware that once more being free after so many years of confinement was not easy. As the weeks passed, they had gradually segued into longer chat sessions, with her telling him snippets of her life on the other side of the planet prior to returning to California, and him providing her with the more light-hearted anecdotes from the clink he was willing to share. By now, she knew of his new living situation, as he was certain that she could keep his private information from falling into the wrong hands, and hoped that it would keep her from worrying too much on his behalf. She had promptly joked that she should pay him a visit sometime soon, as she was curious to see _"how you prosecutors live a life of luxury and all that, while we're stuck in shoeboxes somewhere in the concrete jungle,"_ as she had put it, and he had an inkling that he would have to let her indulge her interest one of these days, lest she accused him of lying sooner or later.

Text was an excellent medium for communication with Athena, all things considered – she could not hear his discord whenever she happened to probe too far, and was easily derailed with an amusing cat picture or two. Perhaps Simon would feel ready to truly open up to her some day – he had always found it easy to relate to her even during her childhood days for reasons indefinable, and now that she was a woman grown and they had given up so much for each other, that connection had become even more comfortable in a surprisingly short amount of time – but there were… things… he did not know how to present to her without once again burdening her with self-assumed guilt.

Taka had followed him back home from the office on Wednesday, staying on the trail of his bus and pecking at the glass patio door of his main living area as soon as he had switched on the light that night. He would have to procure a proper perch for his feathered friend's visits in the near-future – while he had relished the hawk's company, Simon had to admit that the bird's claws had cut into his shoulder rather severely without the stiff cloth of the surcoat between them and his skin, and Taka had had a difficult time finding proper purchase on any of the furniture he possessed.

He had been just about to bring up this particular matter with Athena in their nightly chat – only to be startled out of concentrating on his laptop by that knock.

 _What could Edgeworth-dono want from me…?_

Quickly typing out **afk** and hitting _Enter_ , he rose from the cushion on which he had knelt _seiza_ -style, and went to open the door.

"Yes, Edgeworth-dono…?"

His superior was clothed in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants this evening, and his damp hair and the scent of shower gel told Simon that he had apparently just seen to personal hygiene. He had never seen the man look so _casual_ – even when he had received his then-housemate-to-be for a tour that first evening, he had still worn a white button-up shirt and dress slacks, though the former had been slightly dusty, and while Simon was aware that Edgeworth hardly slept or exercised while dressed to the nines, this was the first time he had laid eyes on him outside of at least partial office attire. And yet, somehow he still managed to look _refined_. _It must be his upbringing._

"Good evening," his unexpected visitor greeted. "I hope I'm not disturbing you…"

Simon shook his head. "No, I wasn't doing anything of import. What can I do for you?"

To his surprise, something akin to dismay flitted over Edgeworth's features for an instant, before it was masked with a pleasant smile.

"I didn't come because I require anything of you – rather… I wanted to see whether you would be interested in joining me to watch the _Steel Samurai_ special tomorrow evening."

The smile gained a slightly self-deprecating note. "You seemed to take an interest in my paraphernalia collection, telling me that you are more than likely looking forward to it as much as I am, and, well… it has been a long time since I've been able to discuss one of the specials with another interested party afterwards."

 _He wants me to_ fraternize _with him…?_

Simon was baffled – he had thought that Edgeworth would be content to not have him underfoot during his free time, but no matter how he probed the offer that had just been presented to him, he could not come up with any other interpretation than the one that the man actually _wanted_ to spend time with him in a shared private indulgence.

Apparently, his surprise had caused him to miss his cue to respond, as his superior's smile had now given way to an odd expression. "If, however, you would rather enjoy the show in private, I completely understand…"

"No!" He replied quickly and perhaps a bit too loudly, as his housemate flinched slightly.

"… In fact," he added more quietly, "I would find that… quite agreeable."

After sending the other man a quick, apologetic glance, Simon mused while studying the grain of the wood forming the door frame, "My television set is rather small… even if we conversed on the special afterwards, I would not be able to observe all the effects very well, and might therefore miss the finer details."

He was relieved to see Edgeworth relax from the corner of his eye as he prattled on, until his superior nodded once he had fallen silent.

"Excellent. I look forward to tomorrow evening, then."

When his housemate turned to leave, Simon found himself calling out, "Edgeworth-dono…?"

His housemate stilled, prompting him to continue.

"Would you consent to letting me provide dinner? It has been a while since I have prepared Japanese cuisine, but considering the occasion, it would seem appropriate for me to try my hand at it once more."

He did not think he had ever seen his superior _grin_ this broadly before – it seemed that somehow, tonight was an evening filled with "firsts."

"Be my guest – it sounds like the perfect accompaniment. Until then… have a good rest."

"And you."

Simon closed the door to his rooms as Edgeworth began making his way down the corridor, his mind still reeling at what had just transpired.

 _I will spend tomorrow evening watching and talking about the Steel Samurai with the chief prosecutor, who now happens to live under the same roof as I do, after explicitly being invited by him to join him. How… unexpected._

Curiouser and curiouser.

He once more sank down into _seiza_ in front of his computer, pondering whether he should share this interesting tidbit with Athena when she inquired, **u ok?**

Simon shook his head at her insufferable netspeak habit for the umpteenth time tonight as he responded, **Everything is fine. Edgeworth-dono came by to ask me something. He just left.**

He opened a new text file to begin compiling a list of things to shop for in order to prepare the meal he had offered, but did not get beyond the three ingredients required for the appetizer before she asked, **is he bothering u w/ work stuff on a fri night? if he is, imma tell him off for u!**

Snorting, he responded with a "U MAD?" macro prior to typing back, **Cool your heels. It was not work-related, and I would rather not have you engage in fisticuffs with my superior at any rate.**

This time, he made it halfway through the list for the main course when the chat window once again blinked into life. **ok ok, he gets to live ;) i think ill go to bed now, im meeting with junie and the gang tmrw. have a good night!**

Simon smiled at the screen for a moment. Now that she knew him to be well, Athena was likewise freed from her self-imposed yoke, and every indication that _she_ got to enjoy her life again like the young woman she was brought him happiness by proxy. **Good night, Athena.**

He closed the messenger application, finalized his list and sent it to his printer, determined to go out first thing tomorrow morning after searching the Internet for a store that stocked everything he needed. Oddly enough, the warm feeling remained with him even after he shut down the computer and prepared himself for bed

Perhaps, for once, the contentment he felt was his own.


	8. Chapter 8

Miles first encountered Blackquill at around noon the following day, when his housemate was striding through the front door laden with two large plastic bags. He spotted the green end fronds of two leeks peeking out of one of them, while the other rattled with the noise of something… metallic? Ceramic? He also thought he heard liquid sloshing about, wondering just what in god's name the man was up to.

Curious, he followed the other man into the kitchen, only to witness his subordinate filling a large bowl with water and draining the fluid out of two plastic containers, before emptying the contents into the vessel he had prepared.

"You are beginning preparations now…?

Blackquill turned and shook his head. "This is the only preliminary that had to be accomplished as soon as possible. The clams need to soak for about six hours to remove any remaining sand and dirt from the inside, and I'd rather not feed us grit, if at all possible."

Miles nodded his understanding, and ducked for the other bag. "Does all this go into the fridge?"

"… Yes." Apparently, Blackquill was not disinclined to let his superior help him out with a task that could be accomplished within five minutes.

 _Baby steps_ , Miles thought, allowing himself a smile as soon as his back was turned towards the other man.

The plastic bag contained two types of mushrooms, a large onion, the leeks, green onions, a pack of firm tofu, a head of Chinese cabbage, beef, eggs, and something of a translucent-gray hue the package proclaimed to be _konnyaku_. After placing everything into the refrigerator, he turned to find his housemate removing a few more items from the other bag: Three cylindrical shapes, probably bottles, carefully wrapped in brown paper, small bags of sugar and rice, and a square box from which the clanging sound earlier had apparently come, which was labeled with a slew of Japanese characters.

"What is that?"

Had Blackquill _smiled_ for a moment there?

"It is called a _tetsunabe_ , with an attached small gas burner. I will begin the heating process during my preparations, but the meal I am planning is traditionally finished tableside."

"You seem to have planned something rather opulent," Miles observed, only for his housemate to immediately shake his head.

"Preparation is quite minimal and requires little skill, so long as one has the right tools and ingredients on hand."

Blackquill's expression seemed a little wistful when he added quietly, "I was able to prepare this meal by the time I was ten years of age, but it isn't meant to be eaten alone."

Taken aback by his subordinate's sudden decision to talk about his childhood, Miles did not know what to say for a moment. He had suspected that the Blackquill siblings had at least some Japanese heritage, given their features and the younger one's preoccupation with traditional warrior culture, but it would have been uncouth to ask. "But your sister –"

"– rarely took the time to share a leisurely dinner with me," his housemate finished the sentence for him. "Furthermore, she prefers… different fare. Perhaps she doesn't wish to be reminded of Mother – they did not part on the best of terms prior to our parents' accident."

"… I see." Miles took a deep breath, aware that the moment had just about passed. "Well… thank you for offering to share this with me." As he was speaking, he realized that his gratitude was meant as much for the upcoming dinner as for the unexpected glimpse into the other man's past.

Blackquill did not meet his eyes as he muttered, "No thanks are necessary," walking past his superior and retreating to his rooms.

* * *

Both men whiled the afternoon hours away by themselves; Simon only emerged once from his domain to exchange the clams' soaking water and sort out any specimens obviously not fit for consumption. Edgeworth was nowhere to be seen during that time period, but the noises coming from the exercise room told him that his superior was currently engaging in a workout.

After he had closed his door behind himself, Simon's eyes fell on the slightly-scuffed scabbard of his practice blade. He had not been able to engage in his solo forms at the hotel – the room had been far too limited in space, and attempting to commandeer the lobby for this purpose would have been… well. In the clink, anything more lethal than a sawed-off broom handle, which had furthermore been strictly restricted to use within the communal, closely guarded exercise facility, had been out of the question.

He had retrieved the sword from Aura's storage locker on Thursday, but had not yet had time to reconnect with it. What better time to do so than now, anticipating what promised to be yet another magnificent skirmish of the Steel Samurai's Army of Light and the Dark Forces of the Evil Magistrate?

After letting himself out onto the tiled patio, satisfied that he was hidden from curious neighbors by the tall hedges partitioning off Edgeworth's grounds from the surrounding houses, he knelt while holding the sheathed blade at his side with his left, his right closed around the hilt.

 _Let's see if I can still do this._

The sword _blinked_ out of its scabbard within a split second, slicing through the air in front of him with a satisfying, vicious whistle, the force of the strike causing some branches of the hedge in front of him to fall as if hit directly by the sharp steel.

 _Ahh, I've missed this._

Simon stilled when his traitorous mind decided to present him with the scene he had happened upon at the Cosmos Space Center seven years ago, instantly quelling his satisfaction. Metis Cykes had already been dead when he had found her, and he had seen no other way to protect Athena than to use his mentor's cherished blade, sullied with her own blood, in order to silence the robot Ponco. It had been the last time he had been at leisure to hold a blade, and the memory still stung deeply.

 _Ultimately, it does not matter that I did not do the deed - had it not been for me, she would still be alive. Athena would have never lost her mother, and Aura would not be anywhere near as beset by distrust and cynicism as she is today. Somehow, somewhere, I made a mistake that allowed that damnable terrorist to find out that she held a vital clue about his personality – she may have readily agreed to lend her expertise to my project, but I ultimately failed to keep her involvement a secret. She was a civilian casualty that could have been avoided, given proper security measures._

 _My carelessness. My fault._

The sword trembled in his grip as his self-recrimination threatened to overcome him. Absolved as he had been of any wrongdoing in the eyes of the law, he would never forgive himself for inadvertently bringing about a maelstrom of death and destruction callously enveloping and swallowing all those he had cared for the most, as well as a number of people he had never even met – such as the real Bobby Fulbright, as it happened.

And yet… he also knew that Dr. Cykes, could she speak to him right now, would likely refuse to hold him culpable for what had happened to her, would perhaps even praise him for doing everything in his power to at least save Athena in an attempt to make up for his bumbling missteps. She would not want him to give up something they had both enjoyed. No, she would encourage him to think of her _life_ while practicing, to look ahead towards the future, rather than a past filled with death and regret.

 _I won't relive your demise, Cykes-sama. I might not ever come to terms with my part in it, but if I am to remain in this life, I cannot let it continue to guide my every step._

 _Allow this humble fool to instead celebrate your legacy in the only way left to him._

Simon rose, blade in hand, and assumed an initial strike form, readying himself for the first of a number of _kata_ he had studied with his mentor during her lunch breaks.

* * *

Miles took a shower after he had completed his exercise regimen for the day, his arm and leg muscles pleasantly sore. Standing under the cascading warm water, his eyes closed, he somehow could not keep from thinking back to Blackquill's unusual range of expressions earlier – no careful mask of neutrality, no smirks, not even surprise for a change. And yet, the way he had for once carried his emotions on his sleeve seemed oddly familiar, as though he had seen them on the face of a much younger man years ago.

 _Did I somehow manage to uncover a remnant of his old self just then?_

He had no way to tell, as he lacked the psychological schooling of his subordinate, but seeing him like this had felt so _right_ , Miles had to conclude that he had definitely unearthed a part of Blackquill that even the man himself might have thought lost forever. He was shocked at how _content_ he was at this notion.

 _I may only be an acquaintance wishing to help you with your reintegration into society, however… if, along the way, I can be of assistance in your making peace with your past… I'm right here._

Miles might not have known Blackquill all that well before his incarceration, but after unexpectedly learning about his housemate's fond memories of his family, he found himself wanting to discover more about this complicated man who had so suddenly moved in with him. What had shaped his convictions? How had he decided on his line of work? And how had he withstood the pressures of jail and preserved his integrity, even though his behavior had been corrupted in various ways?

 _Don't pry. Offer an open ear, and hope that he will share._

Perhaps even that much was more than he _should_ do, considering that their work relationship was only suspended while they were at home – a superior was not supposed to be too intimately acquainted with his subordinates. Then again, Miles was certain that Blackquill would immediately let him know if he let emotional considerations get the better of him. In that regard, he was safer than any of the more selfish prosecutors found in his jurisdiction.

 _He lives with you, and he is still going through a difficult time readjusting to everything. If it brings you closer, let it happen._

 _It's been a while since_ you _have had a friend, as well._

Certainly, there was Wright, one of his two earliest acquaintances (the less was said about the other one, the better), but excessive fraternization with someone working on the opposite side of the courtroom was best avoided if one was in a high position such as his. They still talked on the phone more or less regularly, and once in a long while went out to dinner, but although they had been quite close after Manfred von Karma's conviction and the debacle with Miles' unfortunately-worded resignation note, Wright's disbarment had thrown a wrench into their relationship.

In his case, too, Miles had _known_ that his old grade school classmate had not committed forgery, but had had no good way to help him out save for throwing his weight behind Wright's jurist system proposal. When its pilot trial had unexpectedly exonerated the defense attorney of his supposed crime, he had of course jumped into action and done what he could to help him regain his badge, also because Blackquill's term on death row had been approaching its inevitable end, and he had had a _feeling_ that, if anyone could work a miracle and prove a self-professed murderer innocent, it would be Wright.

The man certainly was the closest friendly acquaintance he possessed, if one disregarded Franziska as a quasi family member, but Wright had his own flock – his own makeshift family – to take care of now. Meanwhile, Blackquill was firmly on Miles' side, professionally speaking, and considering that his subordinate prudently avoided excessive overt fraternization with the young Ms. Cykes, and his sister was currently in jail… if two men without a lot of personal ties happened to forge a friendly connection through cohabiting, what harm could come of it, as long as it remained private?

Miles shook his head at himself as he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. _I'm overthinking this. If it happens, it happens, and if it doesn't, so be it._

He rummaged in his closet for the _Steel Samurai_ t-shirt he had purchased during the inaugural _SteelCon_ , as well as for a comfortable pair of pants, and left his bedroom, as it was past six.

Sounds from the kitchen told him that Blackquill was already at work there; when he went to take a look, he found the man chopping vegetables, wearing the hideous apron a _certain_ acquaintance had given him shortly before their contact had completely ceased. Said person had given him a thumbs up and winked at him while stating, _"It'll come in handy if you ever net yourself a sweetheart, Edgey!"_

Miles was not entirely sure why he had not rid himself of this abomination a long time ago – it had more frills than even _he_ was comfortable with, and its front exhorted in sparkling pink lettering to **Kiss the Cook!** Perhaps it was because he had figured that no one would ever see him wearing it, and that he would rather this horrid piece of cloth got soiled than any of his more valued garb.

He masked the guffaw that threatened to escape him at the sight with a cough.

Blackquill looked up from his task, immediately noticing his housemate's amusement, and chuckled. "Apologies for appropriating this garment; I, ah, am sure you _treasure_ it highly, but I was trying to avoid splattering myself with foodstuffs prior to our meal, lest I get any stains onto your furniture."

This time, Miles _did_ snort without bothering to hide it. "Oh yes, it certainly is a _treasure_ of sorts… help yourself to it whenever you like, as long as you don't _ever_ tell anyone that I own anything like it."

His housemate grinned. "My lips shall remain sealed."

"Can I be of assistance with anything?" He felt obliged to inquire.

Blackquill nodded towards the table behind him, on which a number of bowls were neatly stacked up next to two sets of chopsticks. "If you would like to set the table…"

Miles obliged wordlessly, and had only just finished when his subordinate emerged from the kitchen with another two of the deep vessels in his hands, steam rising from them. "The appetizer, _asari no sakamushi_ – sake-steamed clams. The main course will be _sukiyaki_."

They sat and began eating. It was surprisingly easy to pry the firm flesh of the shellfish out of their hard encasements with the chopsticks, and the taste was refined for as few ingredients as the dish seemed to contain – the clams, resting in the remainder of the steaming liquid, alongside finely-chopped green onions and a hint of white pepper. The rice wine had taken on a savory, broth-like flavor, but retained a hint of its customary sweetness.

After he had finished the contents of his bowl, Miles closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the aftertaste on his tongue. "Delicious. My compliments to the chef."

"It was but a trifle," Blackquill responded as he stood up to return the used dishes, now only filled with empty clam shells, to the kitchen. He came back with the small gas burner stand, lighting the blue flame with a match, and went once more to fetch the iron pot that went on top of it, which already emitted an alluring scent. It was filled with an assortment of vegetables, tofu, beef and the translucent _konnyaku_ substance, which now looked like so many thick glass noodles, everything swimming in a thin brown soup.

"I did not time this very well," his subordinate apologized while gently prodding the food with a pair of larger serving chopsticks here and there, "the _sukiyaki_ will require another fifteen minutes."

Miles responded, "That's quite all right – the special doesn't begin until eight, so we will likely be finished eating at that point."

His prediction should prove true. They polished off the equally delightful main course, in which all ingredients had been tied together perfectly by simmering in the soy sauce-based broth; the remaining liquid ended up soaked into the accompanying bowls of rice Blackquill had provided on the side. When they both leaned back in their seats, stomachs pleasantly full, only a little more than five minutes remained until the Steel Samurai would grace TV screens across the country. Miles lent his housemate a hand in carrying everything back into the kitchen, and Blackquill for once left the clean-up for later – there were more important things to be done at the moment.

Their timing was perfect – just when they had settled side by side on the couch and the large LCD television set had flickered into life, a commercial ended, then it was replaced with the familiar logo. The two men exchanged a quick smile; a moment later, two sets of gray eyes focused on the screen.


	9. Chapter 9

The newest _Steel Samurai_ special was everything Miles had hoped for when he had read the network's announcement blurb – another magnificent clash of opposing armies, spearheaded by two sworn enemies alongside their families and loyal friends. As far as he could tell, the martial artistry had risen to new heights of intricacy, with both the Samurai Spear and the hero's trusty katana seeing plenty of action, and the Iron Infant had developed into a preternaturally skilled child of seven or eight, sneaking away from his minders to join the battle and doing his clan honor despite his young age.

 _Those who say that this franchise is 'just for kids' clearly don't know what they are talking about._

However, in spite of his avid interest in the action on the screen, he found his gaze wandering over toward his subordinate more than once. Whenever it did, he found himself captivated by how _animated_ Blackquill's features had become, how he subconsciously balled one large hand into a fist when a blow was about to land, how he scoffed at the ineffectual taunts of the Evil Magistrate. The spectacle had managed to sweep away the stoic ex-prisoner's façade and the decorum of a public servant completely for the time being, revealing the spirit of a boy in his teens laying eyes on the champion of Neo-Olde Tokyo for the very first time. It truly was a sight to behold, and before Miles knew it, the wish to be able to see it more often surfaced in his thoughts.

 _To think that you're still able to look like this, after everything…_

It was good to have first-hand proof that Blackquill still retained a sense of wonder, his obvious enjoyment infectious – Miles felt a smile tugging at his lips every time he glanced over at the other man, and he found it hard to decide between looking at his housemate and following the narrative displayed on the TV near the end. The screen won out when it was clear that the credits would roll any moment, as he would rather not let his housemate know just how much of his attention he had occupied.

When the station had gone into commercials, he turned towards his subordinate once more. "Your thoughts…?"

"First-rate entertainment, as usual," Blackquill responded immediately. "I was surprised that they allowed the Iron Infant to remain on the battlefield after discovering that he had snuck out of the manor grounds, but he acquitted himself well for a child. His sword technique requires further practice, though."

Miles chuckled. "Give him time to improve – he's not even ten yet."

"Perhaps so, but it is important to acquire good form from the start, and considering the swordsmanship skills of his father, he should be encouraged to observe and learn."

Blackquill's serious tone made his superior recall that the man was a sword practitioner to be reckoned with, himself, considering that some of his techniques had managed to cause limited damage even without the blade during his court room appearances while still imprisoned. He wondered aloud, "Have you ever attempted to duplicate some of the Steel Samurai's sword maneuvers?"

His housemate seemed to sit up a little straighter as he intoned, "Not only attempted – I perfected them, and incorporate some of them into most of my _kata_."

Sensing that this was a matter of great pride for Blackquill, Miles asked carefully, "If I might… could I ask you to show me some of your work in that regard? The swordsmanship in the _Steel Samurai_ live shows was somewhat lackluster compared to that displayed in the series and the specials, and I would be very interested to witness an expert performing."

Apparently, his housemate had now realized his momentary lack of humility, as he quickly demurred, "I am hardly an _expert_ …"

"Oh?" Miles returned, one eyebrow raised. "When _did_ you begin to work with bladed weapons? Something tells me you were quite young…"

After a second of silence, Blackquill nodded. "I began with _kendo_ when I was ten, and although that art doesn't feature real blades anymore, the forms are still based on sword combat. At age fourteen, I added _iaido_ to my exercise regimen as another offered extracurricular activity, and was gifted my first katana by my parents. During my years in law school, I strayed towards western techniques for a while, as fencing was a favored sport among my peers, but when my sister recommended me to Dr. Cykes as a protégé, I returned to my roots, as she practiced a more Japanese style…"

"There you are then. With such an illustrious background, it would be difficult for me to consider you anything _but_ an expert," Miles opined, only to be taken aback when his housemate's features suddenly hardened.

"You aren't factoring in my enforced hiatus – no one in the clink would have _dared_ to furnish me with a sword for _practice_."

 _Ngh… one step too far._

"Since you incorporated some of the Steel Samurai's moves into your repertoire, I take it you have been an enthusiast for a while…?" He hurried to change the topic.

Blackquill smiled at that, causing him to suppress a sigh of relief. "I followed the franchise from its very first hour. Truth be told, my sister used to make fun of me for delighting in a _kid's show_ , as she called it…"

Miles grimaced slightly. "I know what _that_ is like, trust me. Franziska and I may not be blood-related, but she appointed herself my _older sister_ almost as soon as I was adopted into the von Karma household – and since we were raised to a standard of _perfection_ , any personal foibles of mine quickly turn into a target painted onto my back at her hands."

"'Older sister'…? I was under the impression that von Karma-dono and I were of approximately the same age…" His housemate seemed mildly surprised at Miles' personal revelation, which made him chuckle for a moment.

"Don't remind _her_ of that – it's best to let her be when it comes to such matters. She has mellowed some over the years, but the sting of her whip is still quite vicious."

A snort. "As I never got a chance to become well-acquainted with her, I shall be guided by your experiences, then. Let us hope that she and Aura never form an alliance against us, or something tells me that we will surely rue the day this comes to pass."

Miles shuddered. "Now you've probably cursed it. Perhaps I should update my will…"

"Take heart, Edgeworth-dono," his subordinate ordered, clearly in jest. "We might be doomed, but we shall put up a valiant fight before we succumb to our inevitable fate."

"I couldn't ask for a better compatriot in this particular battle, Mr. Blackquill."

They sat in silence for a moment after Miles' impulsive declaration. Then, his housemate rose. "… I should probably take care of the dishes."

He turned toward the kitchen, only for his steps to falter. Looking back over his shoulder, he stated quietly, "Thank you for inviting me to share in this experience with you, Edgeworth-dono. I haven't had a chance to watch _Steel Samurai_ with another in a long time – since before… since the time Cykes-dono was but a child."

Miles smiled at him from his spot on the couch. "It is _I_ who should be thankful for an excellent meal and pleasant company this evening."

"… I'm glad that it met with your approval." Blackquill sounded ever-so-slightly embarrassed.

When the man had almost reached the threshold leading into the adjacent room, his superior, realizing that his earlier request had been deflected, called after him, "Oh, and Mr. Blackquill…? I was quite serious about wanting to see your interpretations of the Steel Samurai's techniques. Would you be willing to show me some time tomorrow…?"

This time, his housemate did not turn towards him as he answered, although his tone did not seem to harbor any reluctance. "As you wish."

Shortly thereafter, the clinking of ceramic and the sound of a faucet running signaled to Miles that his subordinate had begun pre-rinsing the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher, and although he felt slightly guilty at leaving clean-up duty to Blackquill, he knew that help was probably unwelcome. Busying himself instead by reading a chapter of his book, he wished his housemate a good night when the latter re-emerged from the kitchen to go to his rooms, and was treated to yet another one of those genuine smiles he had somehow begun to crave in response.

* * *

Simon did not think that he would be able to succumb to slumber right away when he had retreated to his private domain for the night. For a change, however, his inability to sleep was not born out of a myriad of concerns, nor of carefully suppressed apprehension and ire. While his earlier bout of melancholy had not seen a true resolution, and he doubted that it ever fully would, tonight, he primarily felt the need to recapitulate and process the odd yet overall pleasant day which had just ended.

He was not sure what exactly he had expected to come of accepting his superior's invitation to watch the _Steel Samurai_ special with him, and of his subsequent impulse to offer providing dinner, but whatever it might have been, it had _not_ amounted to feeling compelled to reminisce about his deceased parents aloud in front of the other man, nor to subsequently bonding over their occasionally overbearing siblings.

Edgeworth had always seemed so _removed_ , intensely private and professional to the last, that he had never envisioned him as a _person_ – his title and his legal prowess had been the sum of the man in Simon's mind. Hell, had his reticence to move in with his superior not originally arisen from his still elevating him to that impossibly high pedestal? To not just intellectually _know_ that the chief prosecutor did, in fact, possess a life outside of work, and could find this level of enjoyment in things considered frivolous by others, but to actually _experience_ it… it was a shock, of sorts, if not necessarily a bad one for a change.

Then again… how far could he allow himself to go down this road? While most overtures to share private activities and snippets about their out-of-office lives and hobbies had originated with Edgeworth, Simon had the uncomfortable feeling that, sooner or later, he might have to excuse himself from a conversation turning _too_ personal, and how would his housemate – his superior, the _master_ of his professional life he had sworn fealty to – react to that?

 _Edgeworth-dono isn't given to prying. He_ will _back off if he realizes that a certain bridge better remain uncrossed._

In Japan, the country of some of his forebears, it had long been standard for leaders of companies to take an active interest in their subordinates' family lives, and to sometimes even introduce couples to each other and officiate at their weddings. The samurai of old had resided in their masters' households as official retinue, and many stories of Tokugawa Ieyasu and similarly high-born men fraternizing with their oath-bound warriors had been passed down through the ages, exchanging stories and discussing their respective family units during long nights spent on castle walls on the lookout for attacking enemies.

 _His sway over me is not nearly as absolute as theirs was over their retainers – and he would never demote me or otherwise hobble my career for a perceived slight. Conversely, he also would not favor me over others – he should know that, if he ever attempts to do so, I will resist._

Was it really _that_ strange to potentially gain a friendly acquaintance who also happened to be in a superior position? After all, Aura and Director Cosmos had gotten sloshed together once in a while over the years, and Wright's relationship with Justice and Athena seemed almost fatherly. True, the Prosecutor's Office was a public institution, other than the Cosmos Space Center, whose endeavors were largely funded by state and national moneys, but which still worked on at least semi-private projects on a regular basis – and the Wright Agency _was_ a family business, even if its family was cobbled together rather than blood-related. Still… it was not as though the public would ever learn what he and Edgeworth might discuss within their own four walls, and even if a muckraker happened to catch them in a photograph together, it would prove nothing.

 _He seems to genuinely wish to get to know me on a more personal level – perhaps as a result of realizing how close I was to my demise before my exoneration._ Narrowly-avoided death of an acquaintance, no matter how removed, tended to have this effect on some people.

Simon, for his part, had no such excuse for his curiosity. Yet… he could not help but wonder about Miles Edgeworth, the private person. He had _some_ background on the man, given how high-profile the DL-6 case had been shortly before he had entered law school, but… his superior had been a protégé, and adoptive son, of one of the most feared prosecutors of the last 100 years. Then, he had discovered that his mentor had been the murderer of his father, defense attorney Gregory Edgeworth. After being raised to adulthood by the infamous Manfred von Karma and being known as the "Demon Prosecutor" for part of his career, only to learn that his journey to adulthood had been shaped by a tremendous lie about a gruesome crime… how had he shed the man's influence, and become the person he was today? How had he resisted opting for a career change in the end, given that he had apparently chosen to temporarily resign his high prosecutor commission to return to Europe for a while?

Perhaps he would find out, perhaps not. However, if this information was freely bestowed upon him, and if they happened to form a bond via this period of living under the same roof…

 _If this should occur… I won't fight it._

His mind slightly more at ease, he booted up his computer to check in with Athena for a short while – knowing her, she was probably already sitting on hot coals because he had not been online all evening, since he usually spent at least one to two hours on the Internet before going to sleep.

The message jumped onto his screen almost as soon as he had started the messenger application. **did it take u dis long to come down from ur steel samurai high? ;)**

Simon chuckled, and typed back, **Let a man enjoy his guilty pleasure in peace, would you?**

The chat cursor did not indicate typing on the other end for a few seconds; he envisioned her having a quick laugh before composing her reply.

Eventually, it came. **i saw it w/ junie, robin, and myriam. hugh couldnt make it tonite, hes studying a lot. it was really good, wasnt it?**

 **Quite so** , he responded, smiling to himself when he became aware that he was not just referring to the special, but to the evening in general.

 **i kinda wish u couldve come too. we used to watch the show together back when i was a kid… i wouldve invited u, but i know ur not so hot on mingling atm. u watched by urself, rite?**

Simon hesitated for a moment, torn between keeping his tentatively growing closeness to Edgeworth a secret for now, and allowing her this, when all was said and done, not _that_ consequential glimpse into his new life. The latter option won out – Athena already was aware that he was living under the man's roof, and she knew not to tattle about his affairs to others.

 **Actually, Edgeworth-dono and I watched it together, and discussed some of the finer points afterwards. Said discussion accounts for my tardiness tonight, as well.**

 **EDGEWORTH LIEKS STEEL SAMURAI?** was the lightning-fast response.

 _Perhaps I should have kept this to myself, after all._

 **Yes, and while I cannot imagine him being too mortified by knowing that you know, I would appreciate it if you did not pass this tidbit around among your friends,** he cautioned sternly.

 **no problemo :)** , she assured him right away. **im just happy u guys have sumthing in common! would be boring if u only talked abt work!**

He was not sure how to respond to that, although her approval only reinforced the conclusion to which he had come earlier.

Athena absolved him from having to reply to her outburst of positive sentiment by stating, **im gonna go to bed now, im pooped! planning on getting back to training for that 5k tmrw morning.**

Simon smiled. **Very well, I'm about to turn in for the night, myself. Pleasant dreams.**

 **u too!** She went offline a few seconds later.

He _did_ have pleasant dreams when he drifted off about an hour thereafter, envisioning the swordplay routine he would present to his housemate the following day, completely unaware of the fact that, in a room a few doors down, his superior was doing exactly the same thing.


End file.
